


The Caffrey Job

by LEJ418



Category: Leverage, White Collar
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi, Post-Canon, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LEJ418/pseuds/LEJ418
Summary: Three months after Neal Caffrey fakes his death, he finds himself in more trouble than he ever imagined. Good thing Sara Ellis and the Leverage team are on the case.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer, Neal Caffrey/Sara Ellis, Sophie Devereaux/Nathan Ford
Comments: 69
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

_London, England_

It arrived in a plain white envelope on a perfectly normal Tuesday. Sara Ellis had spent the last forty- five minutes with a client spelling out under no uncertain terms that no, Sterling Bosch would not pay out if the Iraqi government did in fact prove his 1.5 million dollar piece was looted from their Museum, that this was spelled out in their terms and she had advised him six months ago that it was a bad idea to buy the damn thing in the first place.

Her head was throbbing and her days pounding the pavement and chasing down missing art were starting to take on a golden sheen. The fact it involved rooting through garbage, faking her own death, and occasionally wearing flats did not factor into this moment of nostalgia.

“Your mail, Ms. Ellis,” her assistant Kylie handed her a stack of envelopes. “And Mr. Dean with HR wants to discuss your decision not to fire Casey Wrighton.”

She picked up the envelope on top with a sigh of irritation. “He recovered the painting, didn’t he? I don’t care how he did it.”

“I believe Mr. Dean’s concern was about the fact Mr. Wrighton rammed his car into the mail lorry.”

“Allegedly,” Sara added rubbing her temples. She had done far more damage in her day, having once rammed her rental car into a Porche in attempts to prevent a particularly insufferable thief from escaping. But he was long gone by the time she untangled herself from the airbag, leaving her with a smoldering, stolen Porche and a lot of explaining to do. 

She frowned at the memory. 

Kylie took that as her cue to exit. “I’ll bring you some tea.”

Kylie had already opened the mail, sorting out the junk from the government notifications, invoices and statements. It was all standard except a large white envelope, her name typed neatly on the front, a postmark indicating it came from Italy. Sara slid the contents on to her desk. A single sheet of paper fell out, revealing a perfectly rendered drawing of Raphael’s St. George and the Dragon.

Her face went white.

“Ms. Ellis?” Kylie was standing in the doorway holding her tea. “Are you alright?”

She made an attempt to regain her composure, flipping it over and then studying the envelope. But there was nothing. No message. No ‘I found this and thought you should have it.’ Nothing but the drawing and a few sheets of blank cardstock used to pad it.

“Was there anything else in this envelope Kylie?” She asked hurriedly.

Kylie came around to the desk, setting her tea down. “No it was just that. I thought it was odd too. Are you—?'

She managed a tight smile. “It’s probably just a prank. Nothing to worry about. Can you reschedule my call with Dr. Fields please?”

“Of course. But who would send that as a prank?”

Sara picked up her tea with trembling hands “I have no idea.”

She studied it more closely while she sipped her tea. It was certainly good enough to be one of Neal’s but it had been three months since she’d sat through his funeral dry eyed and stoic because everyone else was a wreck and someone had to keep them all from crumbling into what felt like an insurmountable abyss.

It was possible someone had found it and thought she might want it but then why no note? The Burkes or June would’ve called first and certainly included a message.

Mozzie was the other contender but she hadn’t talked to him since before she moved to London. He hadn’t attended the funeral, although she’d caught a glimpse of him at the cemetery as she was leaving. He’d never bothered to hide the fact that he considered her nothing more than a distraction to Neal’s genius. But he wasn’t cruel. And something about this felt deliberately cruel.

“It’s just a prank, Sara.” She muttered to herself, stuffing it back in the envelope. Neal was always sketching or doodling. Some agent at the FBI with a sick sense of humor could’ve found it somewhere and sent it to her. They may have even thought it was evidence for the Sterling Bosch files. But if that was the case then why the Italian postmark?

She tapped her fingers against her teacup in thought. It might not even be Neal’s. She should probably just throw it out and forget about it. It was stupid to let it rattle her.

She glanced over to an open file about a missing Pollock lying on the corner of her desk and yanked it towards herself. This case needed to be assigned, Mr. Dean would not be put off forever, she still hadn’t bought furniture or unpacked most of her apartment. There were other, more important things to worry about.

But late that evening, as she was packing up her things to go home, the envelope was still there, a neat white corner sticking out from the rest of her files. She picked it up without looking at it, marched across the room and locked it in her office safe.

Out of sight. Out of mind. And still here. Just in case.

***

Over the next few days, Sara still could not shake her unease. Every time she walked out her door a tingling feeling went down her spine as if she was being watched. She started taking roundabout ways to work, trying to shake a tail she could never quite catch in the act. She was well practiced in counter-surveillance but whomever was following her was very, very good.

It all came to a head when she returned from a lunch meeting on Friday to find Kylie wringing her hands in the hallway.

“There’s someone here to see you Ms. Ellis. He says he’s from Interpol.” Kylie lowered her voice, cocking her head towards the waiting room in front of her office. “I told him to make an appointment but he insisted. He said it was urgent.”

Sara frowned. She met with Interpol often but they knew to make an appointment and were mostly mild mannered analysts who did not terrorize her assistant. She peered into the waiting room, making out the shoulder of what was clearly a large man.

“Kylie, did they show you any ID?”

She nodded. “He kept waving it at me. He got angry when I said you were in a meeting.” She swallowed. “He started yelling.”

Sara gripped her shoulder attempting what she thought was a comforting squeeze. Kylie winced.

Perhaps not.

“I want you to go downstairs and stay there. Tell Security everything.” 

“What will you do?”

Sara squared her shoulders. “Find out what they want.”

The behemoth in her waiting room was most certainly the muscle of this operation. He stood when she entered, towering over her. This was a feat as her heels put her at roughly five foot eleven.

“Ms. Ellis,” he greeted her.

“How can I help you Mr...?”

“Charles,” he said curtly. “Interpol.”

He flashed a badge quickly so she didn’t have time to inspect it.

Amateur.

What did concern her was the gun clearly visible under his jacket as he replaced his “badge.”

“I need to ask you some questions about the Manet your office located last month.”

“Why don’t we go into my office then?” She gestured towards the door. “After you.”

Sara walked quickly to her desk, remaining standing even as Charles took a seat. In New York she always kept a gun in her top drawer but London was not quite so liberal with their gun licenses. Here she had nothing but her baton, which was also technically illegal and would do little against a bullet. She pulled it out anyways, gripping it threateningly as she stared him down.

“You’re clearly not Interpol so why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what you want?”


	2. Chapter 2

_Two Days Earlier  
Newest Leverage Headquarters  
San Diego, California _

“Explain to me again why I am not in my bed, swaddled in Egyptian cotton?” Sophie whined, collapsing into the couch. 

Wide awake, Hardison was bent over one of his many computer monitors, radiating with excitement. “You’re going to want to see this.”

“This better be damn important, Hardison,” Eliot complained, slamming the door behind him. “I’m going to have to start all over with the choux.”

Hardison looked up. “The things that come out of your mouth boggle my mind.” 

“What kind of shoes?” Parker asked. She was perched crosslegged on top of the couch munching from a bag of Cheetos. 

“Choux. Not shoes. It’s a type of pastry.”

“But is it made from shoes?” Hardison joked, just to mess with him. 

“It’s made with butter and flour,” Nate called from the kitchen where he was pressing buttons on the fancy coffeemaker. He was looking more disgruntled with every button he pressed. 

“It’s a very complicated steaming process.” Eliot pointed at Hardison accusingly. “You’re the one who wanted to try a breakfast place this time.” 

He threw himself into one of the empty chairs. “Everyone’s here,” he gestured impatiently. “Run it.”  


“Since you asked so nicely.” 

Eliot raised his eyebrows in a way that would’ve been threatening to an outsider but just made Hardison roll his eyes. He picked up his tablet to control the large screen. 

“So Nate had me keeping an eye out if anyone sketchy popped up around Damien Moreau.” 

“As a precaution,” Nate interjected. “He might not ever leave San Lorenzo but his reach is wide.” 

“And there’s been nothing hinky,” Hardison continued. “But then early this morning—“

“It is early this morning,” Sophie groaned, wrapping her arms around one of the couch pillows. “The only reason anyone should ever be up this early is for sex or grifting.”

“And pastry making,” Eliot grumbled. 

“ _Earlier_ this morning,” Hardison continued, “A name popped up the Dark Web. Some very bad guys looking for a guy named Victor Moreau. So I ran that name through some databases, hacked into the NSA, did some digging, pulled some security footage at LaGuardia—”

Bang. 

Nate smacked the coffemaker with his fist.  
Hardison stopped again. “It’s a ten thousand dollar coffeemaker, Nate, you don’t need to hit it. Just press the red—not the green—the red button. There you go. Man, you people are difficult in the morning.” 

“You could’ve put some coffee out for us.” Eliot gestured to Parker’s Cheetos with disgust. “A breakfast spread. You know since you called us all in here at six in the morning.”

Hardison threw his hands in the air.

“Just skip to the good stuff,” Parker urged him. “What you told me earlier when you woke me up rambling like a tinfoil hat person.”

He shot her a look and she shrugged. 

“Fine,” Hardison hit a few buttons on his computer bringing up a picture of a dark haired, blue eyed man. “After five hours of very hard work, I figured out that Victor Moreau is Neal Caffrey. Neal Caffrey supposedly died three months ago. There you go.” He tossed the tablet on the table. “You can all go back to bed now.”

Sophie got up, moving closer to the screen, eyeing it the way she would 4 carat diamond. “I suspected he might not be dead.” She turned back to the group. “A good con artist never dies you know.” 

“Their smiles just fade away,” Eliot finished for her. “So why’s this guy sound familiar?” 

“He’s a legend,” Sophie explained. “One of the best. I worked with him a few times. Do you remember São Paulo, Nate?”

Nate looked up from where he was finally pouring his coffee. “He’s not that good. FBI got him for bond forgery.” He approached the screen, handing a cup to Sophie as he went. “But before that? Yeah I chased that damn kid across three continents.” 

“He was working with the FBI for awhile,” Hardison continued, “helped them put away some pretty bad guys. Three months ago the FBI went after the Pink Panthers and he supposedly died during the take down.”

“The Panthers?” Eliot asked. “I don’t even fuck with those guys.” 

Everyone looked at him, surprised. 

“What? Even I know the quickest way to wind up in a body bag.”

“So the Panthers must have cottoned on to the fact he was alive and are tracking him down,” Parker postulated. 

Hardison brought up a map of Europe. “I’m still digging on that front. The IP address bounced off a server in the Ukraine. Could be the Panthers, could be Moreau, could be anyone on his looooong list of enemies. But let’s just say whoever it is isn’t looking to throw an “I’m glad you’re not dead party.”

“Pity.” Sophie shook her head. “The one you threw me really raised my spirits.”

Hardison laughed at the memory. “Yeah it was almost as good as Nate’s prison break one.”

Nate raised his coffee in a toast. 

“Why Moreau?” Parker prompted. “Is it a coincidence or is there a connection between them?”

“Oh I know there is. About eight years ago, Caffrey was involved with a woman who died in a freak plane explosion. Y’all see where I’m going with this?” He hit a button, bringing up a picture. “Kate Moreau.” 

“Niece of Damien Moreau,” Nate let out. “Seems like a dangerous choice of alias.” 

“Well he might not have had much choice. The FBI burned all his old ones.” 

“We need to help him,” Sophie pleaded. 

“This doesn’t feel like our fight,” Eliot argued. “I feel for the guy but he’s got some powerful enemies. The Panthers don’t mess around. And the Panthers and potentially Moreau? Forget it.” 

“Parker?”Hardison asked, looking at their mastermind. 

Parker was deep in thought, spinning plates as Nate called it. “We can’t let Damien Moreau back in the game. Maybe he’s going after Caffrey now but we’ll be next.” She looked from one to another. “And even if it isn’t Moreau...we need a new grifter,” she said after a minute. She turned to Sophie. “Unless you and Nate changed your minds about retirement?” 

“No,” they both answered at the same time. 

“I’ve met him,” Parker continued. “He was nice. Knows his way around an air duct.”

“You met in an air duct?” Eliot seemed to be the only one surprised by this. 

Parked shrugged. “Belgrade. ‘04.”

“Neal Caffrey is one of the best,” Sophie added. “Adaptable, quick. And an incredible forager.” 

Eliot still seemed skeptical. “But can we trust him?” 

Sophie hesitated. “He has a code. He wouldn’t betray his own team, especially if we’re helping him. And he’s not violent. But, we do have to remember he sold out a lot of thieves to the FBI.”

Hardison gestured to the room. “Isn’t that more or less what we do?” 

Parker gnawed on her lip thoughtfully. “Hardison do you think you can find him?”

“Do I think I can find him? Babe, I can find pretty much anyone provided they’re on the grid.”

“Where did you lose him?” Nate asked knowingly. 

Hardison narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t lose him.” 

Nate waited. 

“He fell off the grid in Prague, ok?” Hardison continued. “But I’ll find him again. I just need to hack some closed circuit security feeds. It would be helpful to narrow it down though—pinpoint where he might go.” 

“How do you find a guy who has the skills to avoid the FBI, Interpol, and me for years?” Nate posed the question to the group. 

“Find his money,” Parker threw out with a mouthful of Cheetos. 

“Enemies,” Eliot suggested. 

Sophie shook her head. “Love,” she said with certainty. 

“People usually struggle to cut their ties with their old lives,” Nate said. “So Hardison, who did he associate with in New York?” 

Hardison scrolled through his records. “Officially he kept to himself. But you know how it is with people like us. Burner phones and back alleys. His landlady really liked him, a few FBI agents. He was close to his handler.” 

He landed on Peter Burke’s phone records.

“You think the FBI is in on this?” Sophie asked skeptically. 

“It’s a possibility but I doubt it. I looked at Burke but his wife just had a baby. He’s been busy. Hasn’t done anything weird or called any strange numbers. Mostly he just calls his wife. Dude really loves his wife.”

“That’s sweet,” Sophie said throwing a look at Nate. 

“Why would I need to call you? You’re right here!” 

“I was referring to Belize.” 

Eliot looked to Nate. “You didn’t call her while she was in Belize? What’s wrong with you?”

“How many times have you been married Eliot?”

“Two less times than you,” Eliot shot back. 

“He’s like us,” Parker interrupted. 

Everyone turned to her in confusion. 

“Like Hardison said about burner phones and back alleys.”

“Yes but we don’t need burner phones because I can hack the NSA.”

“What I mean is he could’ve got a taste for putting away bad guys.” She looked to Sophie. “He worked with the FBI on fighting art crime right? So maybe he kept trying.” 

“You think he’s been helping recover it instead of steal it?” Hardison pulled up a new search and started typing key words. “There’s some looted objects from Afghanistan in a storage unit in Germany... a stolen Manet reappeared in Florence...missing Greek sculpture in Prague...”

“Go back to the Manet,” Nate requested. “I think Parker might be on to something.” He had that concentrated looked on his face that usually meant he smelled blood in the water. “Who insured the Manet?”

Hardison hit a few keys. “Sterling Bosch.”

Nate grinned. “Ok can you pull up Burke’s phone records from the day Caffrey died?”

He pulled them up again, scrolling through them. “Not much here.” 

“Except that, stop there. He called Sterling Bosch, why?”

“Well they’re an insurance company.” Eliot pointed out. “Between the Pink Panthers and the FBI they probably caused all kinds of property damage.” 

“No,” Sophie added. “That’s a London number. Who’s extension is it?”

Hardison hit a few keys. “Sara Ellis. She runs the London branch.” 

“There’s the connection,” Nate declared triumphantly. 

“Explain,” Eliot insisted, arms crossed. 

“Sterling Bosch insured a Raphael that Caffrey was alleged to have taken but he never confessed and it didn’t turn up. Sara Ellis was assigned that case. About a year ago it mysteriously reappeared at Sterling Bosch. Now the Manet. High profile art like this, it doesn’t usually just reappear. Has there been a bump in their overall recovery rate in the last quarter?” 

“Four percent,” Hardison added. 

“He’s helping her,” Sophie suggested. “I’d bet my favorite diamond on it.”  
“Let me see what we can find out about Ms. Ellis.” Hardison started to bring up records, running his basic search. “She’s been running the London branch for about a year, high recovery rate when she was an investigator. Unmarried. No children. No pets. Deceased parents. Nothing hinky in her financials so far but wow does she make an obscene amount of money.” He stopped, glaring at Nate. “And she’s Facebook friends with your ex-wife. But you already knew that didn’t you?”

Nate took a nonchalant sip of his coffee. “We may have crossed paths.” 

Hardison brought up a picture of a younger Nate standing at what looked like a barbecue with Maggie and another woman. “I’ll say.”

“Man, you do not look good with long hair.” Eliot snickered. 

“I was trying something.”

“Well you all look pretty darn chummy,” Hardison pointed out. 

Nate shrugged. “She and Maggie were good friends.”

Sophie raised an eyebrow? “Were?” 

“I don’t know who Maggie associates with these days. It didn’t really come up while we were trapped in a Ukrainian embassy.”

“Call her,” Parker told him. She peered at the picture with fascination. “Your hair was so…wiggly.”

“Parker...”

“She’s right, Nate,” Sophie urged him. “Call her.”

“It’s too early in the morning.”

“Actually,” Hardison pointed out gleefully. “It’s 11AM in New York and Maggie happens to be consulting with the Met this week.”

Nate glared. “Stop stalking my ex-wife.”

Hardison hit a button and the computer began to dial her. “Whoops, it’s ringing.” 

It rang twice before Maggie picked up. 

“Good morning, Hardison. What is that I can do for you?”

“Uh yeah hi Maggie,” Nate rambled nervously, “how are you?”

“I’m fine.” There was a whoosh as a car went past her. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“Who says I want something?”

“Nate.”

“Yeah fine. The Manet they found. The one insured by Sterling Bosch? You didn’t happen to be on the authentication team, did you?”

She let out a laugh. “I’m assuming I’m on speaker with the whole crew.”

“Hi Maggie,” Parker piped. The rest chimed in with a chorus of hellos and grunts. 

“Hi everyone. Yes. I was on the team for the Manet. And yes, it’s real.”

“You’re sure?” Nate asked. 

“It’s kind of my job to be.”

“Who was the lead insurance investigator on it?”

There was a honk and then a whoosh as a car went past. “Sterling Bosch paid out on it years ago so no one was looking anymore on that end. It appeared in the hotel room of one of the investigators in Florence. Jana Fieldsgoth.”

“They didn’t think that was concerning?”

“Of course they did. They hired four different authenticators and we all did independent tests. It’s real.” 

“Do you know who the original investigator was?”

A car alarm went off in the background. “Sorry I’m on my way to a meeting. It was one of Sara’s. Why?”

“Have you uh...talked to Sara lately?” 

“She’s the one who hired me. What’s this about Nate?” Her voice started to grow alarmed.

Sophie waved a hand indicating he should let her talk. 

“Maggie, it’s Sophie,” she said lightly, keeping her voice breezy and reassuring. “It’s nothing to worry about, we’re just trying to find out more about where the Manet came from. It might relate to a case we have.” 

“Did Sara mention if she was seeing anyone?” Nate blurted. 

Sophie threw up her hands. “You’re going to spook her,” she whispered. 

Nate continued. “Or if there was anyone hanging around her office that seemed odd? Did she mention Neal Caffrey at all?”

Maggie sighed. “No, Nate, it’s Sara. She’s as married to her job as ever. And she definitely didn’t mention Neal Caffrey. Listen, I have a meeting. Don’t try to con Sara. She’ll see right through it.”

“Maggie—“

“I have to go. Parker, thank you for the knife you mailed me. Do _not_ con Sara.” 

She hung up with a click. 

“She liked my knife.” Parker grinned. 

“Is that where my best kitchen knife went?” Eliot glowered. “I’ve been looking for that for weeks.”

“She said she was going to Istanbul. You can’t go to Istanbul with out a good knife,” Parker pointed out as if this was obvious. 

Eliot stomped into the kitchen. “Dammit, Parker,” he muttered under his breath.

“Just buy a new knife,” Hardison said.

Eliot flipped him off. 

“What are you doing?” Sophie called after him. 

“I can’t watch her eat Cheetos for breakfast. I’m making omelets.”

“We’re in the middle of something, Eliot,” Sophie reminded him.

“I can hear just fine from the kitchen,” he called back, there was a clang as he pulled out the pots and pans. “Parker, what are you thinking?”

“We need more information,” she answered. “Sophie, Nate, start thinking of places he might go. Eliot, I think you’re going to need to go to London and keep an eye on Sara. She could be in trouble and we need to know what she knows. ” 

“Great,” he grunted from the kitchen. 

She turned to Hardison. “Can we start booking flights for tomorrow? Eliot and Nate should go to London, the rest of us should start in Prague.” She smiled devilishly. “Let’s go steal a thief.”


	3. Chapter 3

_London, England_

“You’re clearly not Interpol so why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what you want?”

He looked her up and down. “You’re clever Ms. Ellis. I’ll give you that.”

She raised an eyebrow impatiently. 

“I’m looking for Victor Moreau. That name mean anything to you?”

A flicker of surprise crossed her face. She tightened her grip on the baton. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Mr. Charles rose, looming over her. “I don’t believe you.” He reached for his gun but Sara was quick. She brought up her baton, whacking him across the face as hard as she could. 

He stumbled, grabbing the edge of the desk to remain upright. Sara rushed around the other side of the desk, aiming to hit him again. 

Her first hit had slowed him down but it didn’t stop him. He leaned against one of her shelves, blood dripping from his head, gun cocked. “How about we try this again? Where is Moreau?”

“What do you want with him?” She asked evenly. 

“You’re not really in a position to be asking questions, are you now?” 

“What can I say, I’m a curious person.” 

He wheezed. “Well kitten, in my line of work the person holding the gun gets to ask the questions.”

It didn’t take her long to come up with a response. She pushed one of the wheeled chairs that sat in front of her desk at him. A person with better self preservation instinct would’ve used that distraction to run for the door. Sara in many ways lacked this particular instinct. 

Stupid. Peter Burke would’ve said. 

Incredibly reckless. Diana Barrigan would’ve added. 

That is not your best bet. Caffrey would’ve chastened. 

But she wasn’t wired that way and never had been. The part of her brain that should’ve said run usually demanded answers instead. It was the type of personality trade that led to a career comprised of shaking down millionaires committing insurance fraud and following dangerous people into dark alleys. 

And right now, to charging towards a man with a gun armed only with a baton. 

The gun went off and the window behind her shattered. 

She managed to hit him with her baton again, this time getting enough momentum to knock him into the shelf behind him. 

They grappled for the gun. 

He seemed afraid to fire it again at this range in case he injured himself. Unfortunately for Sara he was much bigger than her and five inch heels were doing nothing to help her to stay upright. 

He managed to get the upper hand, wedging himself between her and the shelf, the gun to her head. 

“Drop the baton,” he demanded, breathing heavily. 

She swallowed and dropped the baton. It hit the floor with a thud. 

“Start talking.” 

She glanced down, looking for a good angle on his foot. “I don’t know what you want to know,” she simpered.

“Tell me.” He growled. “Tell me where he hid the money.” 

She lifted her foot and brought her stiletto down with as much force as she could on his metatarsals. 

He roared in pain and Sara elbowed him, yanking the gun from his hand. 

“How about I ask the questions now?” She asked pointing the gun at him and backing away slowly. 

He let out a horse, winded laugh. “You put up a good fight kitten, but do you know how easily I can take that from you? You’ll be dead before the police get here.”

He lunged at her and she fired once, hitting him in the lower leg. 

He screamed. 

“What do you want with Victor Moreau?” She demanded over his cursing.

Outside the (very) broken window she could hear the shrill pierce of sirens approaching. “The police are going to be here any minute. You can either tell me or I can shoot you again in self defense. I might hit something vital this time. Your choice.”

“You crazy bitch.”

She definitely preferred that to kitten. She cocked the gun. 

He raised his hands. “They don’t tell me anything. I’m just supposed to find out where he hid the money and bring the information back to my boss.” The fact she wasn’t meant to survive the encounter was implied. 

“And who is your boss?”

There was shouting outside, footsteps pounding as they ran up the stairs. 

“What are you going to do with it? Take him on all by your little self?”

She fired again, grazing his shoulder. 

“I want a name.” 

“Damien Moreau,” he confessed, half laughing, half screaming. “Good fucking luck.”

Her office door burst open. 

“Hands in the air!”

Sara complied and dropped the gun on to her desk triumphantly. She had what she wanted. 

***

“Nate, we’re too late,” Eliot growled into the comms. He stood across the street, watching as police and paramedics swarmed into the white Georgian Sterling Bosch building. 

“I can see that, Eliot,” Nate replied from the coffee shop down the block. They had landed less than an hour ago and headed straight to Sterling Bosch. 

Eliot was tired, hungry and very unhappy to have their plan already thwarted. “You got any IDs on you that will get us in there?” 

“Not a thing,” Nate answered, sipping a cup of coffee. “You’re going to have to be a very charming American.”

Eliot rolled his eyes, ran a hand through his hair and trudged closer to the scene. 

As he approached, the paramedics rolled a gurney out, a dark haired man was conscious and cursing. “Nate, there’s a gurney coming out,” he narrated under his breath. “I recognize the guy. He’s one of Moreau’s.”

“Do you have eyes on Sara?”

“Nothing yet.”

Eliot waited until no one was looking and ducked under the police barricade. He glanced down, noting the crunch as his feet strode through the broken glass. “Broken window on the second floor,” he commented, looking up. “Looks like someone shot it out.” 

“Sir. Sir, you cannot be here!”

A policewoman rushed toward him. 

Eliot plastered a concerned look on his face. “I’m so sorry ma’am. It’s just my girlfriend is in there. Sara Ellis?” He played up his Oklahoma accent, knowing it had to be pretty novel. “I was supposed to meet her for lunch and when she didn’t show up...”

The woman took him by the elbow. “Wait over there,” she gestured to a wall left of the door. “Ms. Ellis is answering some questions. I’ll have you brought to her when she’s done.”

“Oh thank you ma’am. That is mighty good of you.”

Eliot leaned against the wall, observing the scene as Moreau’s flunky was loaded into an ambulance. He remembered him from his time working with Moreau. Grant something. As far as hit men went he was a particularly brutal choice to take on an insurance investigator. 

“She’s alive but this ain’t looking good, Nate,” he muttered. 

Nate ground his teeth. This operation was already a headache and they had barely started.

Two police officers were exiting the building, evidence bags in hand. Eliot could make out a gun in one of them, what looked like a baton in another. 

“Can’t imagine she’ll be getting this back,” one of them said, holding up the baton bag. “She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t get fined for possession. Even if it was self defense.” 

“Americans...” the other one sighed.

“Sir, I’m to take you to Ms. Ellis?” A young policeman, probably barely out of the academy approached him.

“Eliot, while you go in, I’m going to see if I can get anything from the ambulance driver,” Nate said into the comms. “See what you can get out of Sara.” 

Eliot grunted in response and followed the policeman inside to what looked like a ground floor waiting room. Sara Ellis was seated on the couch speaking with an officer, someone had given her a shock blanket but she’d thrown it over the back of the couch instead. Her hair was darker than the picture he’d seen, a deep brownish red. She looked surprisingly composed given that said hair was a mess and she had blood on what was clearly a very expensive dress. 

“A car will take you home when you’re ready,” the policewoman told her. “I’ll give you some time with your boyfriend.”

Sara turned to him in confusion. He gave her his most concerned, un-threatening smile, taking a gamble that she wouldn’t sell him out. 

“You alright?” He asked, taking the seat vacated by the policewoman. 

“Just some cuts and bruises,” she answered breezily. “I’ve had worse.” 

She regarded him with warm curiosity until the door closed. “Who the _fuck_ are you?”

“My name is Eliot Spencer. I work with Nathan Ford, your friend Maggie’s ex-husband.” 

“I know who Nate Ford is.” She didn’t elaborate, just looked at him, waiting for him to offer more.

“We’d like to help you.”

She stood, briskly offering her hand for him to shake. “Thank you for your time but I don’t need any help Mr. Spencer.” 

“Ramp it up, Eliot,” Nate said in his ear. “Sara doesn’t really respond to the knight in shining amour routine.”

He’d gathered that already. He tried a more aggressive approach, but stayed seated, not wanting to physically alarm her, especially given she’d just sent a guy to the hospital. “The man who tried to hurt you. What did he want?”

“I don’t know,” she answered firmly, dropping her arm back to her side. “He was just some crazy lunatic. It happens.” She gestured to the door. “If you’ll excuse me. I have things I need to collect from my office.”

“Your office is a crime scene.”

She crossed her arms, giving him a look that clearly said _try me_. 

Eliot Spencer had never been one to shy away from a challenge. “Was it about Victor Moreau?”

She gave him a bland smile. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You’re in a lot of danger, Sara.”

Sara quirked an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact. I know the man they just hauled out of here works for Damien Moreau. I know that he’s an extremely dangerous guy to piss off and if he wants something from you, he’s not going to stop until he gets it.”

She didn’t even flinch. “You seem like you know a lot of things Eliot Spencer.”

She turned towards the door. 

“I do know a lot of things,” Eliot continued. “I know that they’re looking for Victor Moreau. I know who’s using that alias and I think you do too.”

She turned around. 

“I’m going to my office and then I’m going home,” she told him. Exhaustion was creeping into her voice. “If Nate Ford wants to talk to me, he should do it himself. I’m sure you know where I live. In the meantime I need a hairbrush.” 

With that she walked out the door, shutting it gently behind her. 

“You catch all that Nate?” Eliot asked. 

“I did.”

“Let’s regroup. Try and keep an eye on her. I’m going to call Parker and meet you near Sara’s flat.” 

“Ok.”

“And Eliot,” he added. “They just admitted her assailant to the hospital with a concussion, a broken foot, and two gunshot wounds. So maybe don’t piss her off.” 

He whistled, impressed. “Noted.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was after four by the time Sara managed to gain access to her office to gather her purse and the files she needed from her safe. As soon as she did, a policeman herded her into one of their vehicles and dropped her off in front of her flat. She’d caused them a lot of extra work today and they were more than happy to see the back of her. 

The glint of late afternoon sunlight streaming through the uncovered windows hit her with a jolt when she opened the door. This was the earliest she had come home from work in a very long time. Stepping over a half unpacked box she made her way straight to the bathroom, where a much needed shower awaited. 

This Sara, she told herself, as she stepped into the warm spray, is what happens when you court a dangerous career and then get into bed with a criminal. A gun to your head, an empty flat, and cryptic messages from your maybe not so dead-ex boyfriend. She should’ve become a curator like her college professor suggested. There was little to no violence in that kind of work. Plenty of criminals though, she thought, so maybe not. 

She gave herself another few minutes to wallow in her life choices before her curiosity won out. She shut off the water, dressed, and padded back into the living room. The envelope she’d gone to great lengths to get out of her office safe was tucked into her bag along with some innocent office files. 

She pulled out the drawing and studied it again. It looked the same as she remembered it. It was done in pencil in elegant, confident lines. The paper it was packed with remained elusive as well, she held them all up to the light which yielded no results. 

Frustrated, she sank back into her hideous, floral couch, the only piece of furniture in her living room unless a staggering number of partially unpacked boxes counted. 

She tilted the sketch this way and that, trying to determine a message. She tried to think like Caffrey, if he were to code a message, perhaps explaining what the fuck was going on, how would he do it? Or was the sketch itself the intended message? 

“Super helpful, Neal,” she muttered under breath. He was such a pain in the ass. What the hell was she supposed to do with this? Her expertise was in recovering art, not analyze it. 

There was really only one other option. She picked up her phone.

“If I ask you a weird question will you answer it without asking any follow ups?” 

“Do you ask any other kind of questions?” On the other end of the line Maggie Collins laughed. “I thought I might be hearing from you today.” 

“Why’s that?”

“Nate called out of the blue asking about you. Something about the Manet. Are you okay, Sara?”

“Yeah.” She toyed with the edge of the drawing. “I’m just tired.”

“You need a vacation. When was the last time you took some time off?”

She almost laughed. Sterling Bosch didn’t really believe in work life balance, especially at her level.

“I’m at the Met for the rest of the month,” Maggie continued. “Come back to New York. We could do some shopping, see what’s on Broadway. Oh and there’s a new restaurant in SoHo you’ll love.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised. Given what happened happened in her office today she might be able to persuade a begrudging day or so out of them. “Maybe I can work from the New York office.” 

“You work too hard.”

Sara stretched out on the couch, propping her feet up on the back. “And how many countries have you been to in the last three months?”

“My business isn’t going to run itself.”

“Of course not.”

“Canada barely counts. What’s your number miss- head-of-the-branch?” 

“It’s only three and I bet Canada would beg to differ on that front.”

Maggie paused and Sara knew she was trying to count on her fingers. “Fine!” She admitted after a second. “It’s been so many I can’t remember. I think it’s seven. Happy?” 

Sara laughed and they lapsed into a companionable silence. She was glad she decided to call Maggie, it felt good to laugh, to know a friend was on the other end of the line. 

“You had a question for me?” Maggie prompted her. “I’m curious now so out with it.” 

“Hypothetically...” she hesitated. “Where would you hide a message in a pencil drawing of St. George and the Dragon?”  
There was silence on the other end. “That is an oddly specific hypothetical,” she finally responded.

“Maggie, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t—“

“I know,” she cut her off, considering. “It would depend on the drawing but it would be hard to hide anything substantial in pencil. Any chance I could get a picture of this hypothetical drawing?” 

“Would you be able to tell who drew it?” 

“Are you asking if I can claim plausible deniability?”

“Yes...”

“Well hypothetically speaking, it’s unlikely I’d be able to do that from a picture you took with your cell phone.” 

Sara texted her the picture and waited while Maggie gave it a cursory examination. 

“It’s a very, very good rendition of the original but you probably already knew that. The only major difference I can see is if you look at the horse’s strap on the original, the one just above St. George’s leg, that’s where you’ll see Raphael’s signature. It’s missing here. Do you have a blacklight?”

“Why? What did you find?”

“Nothing. But it’s standard procedure when you’re authenticating art, you know that.” Maggie paused, choosing her words very carefully. “The reason I’m suggesting it now is because I once examined a forgery where the artist left a message for the FBI that became visible under blacklight.”

Of fucking course he did. 

“Maggie you’re absolutely brilliant!” 

She looked at the boxes stacked haphazardly around her living room, there was definitely a blacklight in there somewhere from a counterfeiting case she’d once worked. 

“Thank you, really.”

“I’m deleting this picture and pretending I never saw it,” Maggie responded. “This conversation never happened.”

“Agreed.”

“And Sara, I know you can’t tell me what’s going on but you can trust Nate, ok? He and his team can help you.”

“I thought he ran a consulting firm?” 

Calling whatever it was he did consulting was a stretch and they both knew it. The insurance world was her domain. She’d heard the rumours swirling about IYS—Ian Blackpool’s sudden resignation, James Sterling’s abrupt promotion—underneath it all the name Nathan Ford circulated in hushed whispers. He was a cautionary tale, a modern Robin Hood, a drunk, a criminal, a felon, a vigilante, an anti-capitalist protester. 

Sara didn’t know what to believe. Maggie never said anything and she never asked.

“He does...well did. He’s stepping back. They…they help people who don’t have any other recourse,” Maggie tried to explain. “People who the law doesn’t protect or doesn’t want to protect.”

“What are they crime fighting vigilantes?” She joked, drawing on one of the more ludicrous rumors she’d heard. 

“Something like that.”

“Shit, Maggie, I was kidding.”

“Do you remember that trouble I had in Kiev?”

“When you were arrested? Yes, it’s kind of hard to forget a collect call from a Ukrainian jail.” It had come as quite a shock. In her line of work Sara had seen the inside of the cell a time or too, albeit briefly. But Maggie? Maggie had never even racked up so much as a speeding ticket. 

Sara was in Argentina looking into Adler when she’d received the call. By the time she extracted herself and arrived in Kiev, she’d already been released. Maggie had told her it was a simple misunderstanding cleared up with help from IYS and said no more about it. Sara still felt guilty for not being there but she hadn’t pressed. They both had their secrets and their unspoken understandings. 

Sara, for example, never asked Maggie about the leak that revealed a massive provenance scandal at Christie’s. Maggie showed her the same courtesy and never asked a single question about the lunch they once had with her friend “Steve Tabernacle” who had very specific questions about art authentication for someone claiming to be an accountant. 

“Nate’s team is the only reason I came out of that alive,” Maggie continued. “I know you saw him at his worst and you don’t know these people. But please believe me when I say I trust them with my life and I trust them with yours.” 

Sara trusted few and asked for help only rarely, Maggie being one of very few exceptions. She couldn’t help it, she’d been on her own since she was twenty, she didn’t know how else to be. 

“Maggie, I don’t—“

“You trust me right?” She asked forcefully 

“Of course.”

“Then trust _them_. I promise you, they will keep you safe. Listen, I need to get going. I have a thing.”

“A thing?” Sara smirked. “A thing with whom?”

“It’s a work thing. Keep your pants on.”

“Who needs a vacation now?”

“Fine, your point is made,” Maggie laughed. “I do have to go though. Be careful, ok? Call me?”

“I will,” she promised before hanging up. 

The boxes in her living room had been packed randomly and with no overarching system in place. Right now, a year later, after digging through most of them trying to find her blacklight she sincerely regretted not hiring someone to pack them. She gave one of them a frustrated kick. There was a reason she had put this off. 

Once she finally unearthed it, buried with what looked like the contents of her kitchen junk drawer, she laid the drawing on the couch and tried to determine the best side to start on. The drawing made sense but if there were words, the back seemed more likely. She clicked on the light and flipped the drawing over, her breath catching as the light revealed a short message on the back. 

Sara,

I need to see you. Tyl Square, Prague.

I’ll explain everything. 

Be careful, you’re being watched. 

Please come. 

Instead of a signature he’d drawn a tiny, intricately detailed picture of the Empire State Building. 

The thing about Sara was that she usually had a very tight leash on her emotions. She was frequently the only woman in a boardroom of wealthy men who were trying to weasel their way into or out of six-figure insurance payouts. She’d learned pretty quickly that no matter how emotional _they_ were, no matter how much they yelled and screamed and called people names, she was the one who had to remain calm, rational and stoic. 

And she’d been calm, rational and stoic ever since the call from Peter Burke three months ago. After all, someone had to be. She’d flown to New York, helped June with the arrangements, asked Agent Jones to call to WitSec and locate Neal’s mother, held El’s hand through the service and gone straight back to London where she could bury all her feelings in her work and no one would be there to call her out. 

She hadn’t teared up when June called to ask if she wanted any of his things or when El and Peter called to tell her they’d named their baby Neal or even when she’d first laid eyes on this damn drawing. So she was shocked to find herself crying now over what was objectively speaking a very short and quite honestly annoyingly unhelpful message. 

She slid off the couch and onto the floor. The floor seemed like the place she needed to be. 

There was no question in her mind now that he was alive but any sense of relief that brought her was mitigated by sheer rage. How could he do this to her? To Peter and El and June? Hell, she wasn’t even confident that Mozzie knew. 

Did he not care that Peter had barely spoken for two days? That El had cried herself to the point of dehydration? Did he not realize that June would insist on cleaning out his apartment herself? That a stranger was going to have to tell his mother he was dead and that his ex-girlfriend was going to have to choose the flowers? 

She wished now that she’d chosen carnations. Would’ve served him right. 

“God damn you,” she yelled. She picked up the nearest object, a coffee-table book about Chanel that had been in one of the boxes, and hurled it at the wall. It hit with a very satisfying smack and left small dent in the paint.  
It made her feel better for about half a second. 

She sat there for a moment and just let it sink in. Neal was alive. Neal was alive and she wanted to fucking kill him.  
She looked at the page again. The blacklight had fallen under the couch so she couldn’t read the message any more but it was burned in her brain. 

_Prague. I need to see you. Please come._

Her mouth twisted into a grimace. She did not have to go to Prague. She did not have to drop everything and run to him just because he decided he wanted to see her. She could put this all away and go back to work and refuse to think about it. Up until today, not thinking about him had worked very well. Neal was an adult, if he needed help he should fight his own battles. But he was right about her being watched, today had proven that. 

She wiped her eyes, picked up the blacklight from where it had fallen under the couch, read the note again, checked the drawing, the envelope and the other pages in the envelope just in case. There was nothing. No further explanation to be found. 

She studied the little drawing of the Empire State Building more closely, this time noticing the two tiny figures on the observation deck. One of them had a French twist, the other one a hat. 

She clicked off the blacklight. 

_Dammit._

Prague wasn’t far away. 

And after everything, she deserved some answers, didn’t she?


	5. Chapter 5

_London, England_  
From a park bench in the square across the street, Eliot kept an eye on Sara’s building. It was a nice flat, on the top floor of a pretty white terrace house in Bloomsbury. The security concerned him, a key FOB was required to enter but otherwise it left a lot to be desired. He’d prefer to be closer but he didn’t want to wind up trying to break out of police custody for loitering in her hallway. 

“I picked up dinner.” Nate approached with a plastic bag from the Thai restaurant around the corner. 

“Great, I’m starving,” Eliot answered without taking his eyes off the door. “Flores called. Moreau escaped early this morning. Thinks he bribed some guards.” 

Nate’s mouth twisted. “Where did he get the money? We cleaned him out.” 

“He has all kinds of connections, no way we burned them all. Probably has a benefactor or several taking care of things.” 

“We’re going to have to—“

Eliot turned to him, his expression serious. “Nate, you know when the time comes I’ll do what has to be done, what I should’ve done to begin with.” 

“No one is asking you to-”

“I do what has to be done to keep this team safe,” he growled pointedly. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

“I wasn’t. I was just going to say, no one is asking you to do it alone.”

Through the hallway window, Eliot could see someone getting ready to leave Sara’s building. “We need to find Caffrey first,” he said, dismissing the conversation. “Let’s go.” 

Nate kept fussing with the bag as they crossed the street which was both out of character and in Eliot’s book, not a good sign. 

“What is wrong with you?” He asked. He managed to time it perfectly, grabbing the door for a woman attempting to exit with a stroller. 

He gave her a charming grin as she walked away, gesturing for Nate to enter first. They headed up the narrow stairs. 

“Nothing,” Nate huffed, stopping for a moment on the second floor. It was hard for him to articulate his anxiety about seeing Sara, even to himself. For him there was clear line of demarcation in the Before and After of his life. And Sara, Sara belonged firmly in Before. 

Before was a time when Sam was a normal, healthy kid. When he came home late from an honest day of work to find Sara and Maggie on the couch, wine in hand, comparing notes on their latest work projects. When he could leave them to their work, creep upstairs and look in on his son, tucked safely into bed. 

He tried his best not to think about Before. He and Maggie had managed to forge their way to an understanding of what life looked like in the After. But Sara hadn’t been a part of that long, difficult process and he wasn’t sure how to reconcile her into his life now, even briefly. 

Eliot tried again, tapping into Sophie-speak instead. “You’re acting like you want a drink.”

Nate brushed him off. “I’m fine Eliot, let’s just get this over with.”

Eliot frowned but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t like being split from the rest of the crew any more than Nate did. Hopefully they could get through this quickly, put Sara on a plane to New York and be headed to Prague by morning.  
They rounded the final set of stairs to the third floor and stopped in front of Sara’s door. 

They stood there for a moment, neither of them moving. 

“Do you want to knock or should I?” Eliot finally said. 

Nate rolled his eyes and knocked on the door, two quick taps, same as always. A very distinctive knock. 

There was no response. 

“You’re sure she’s here?” Nate asked. 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Unless she climbed out the window and shimmied down three stories worth of drainpipe, yeah, she’s here.”

Nate narrowed his eyes in a way that made him that wasn’t a completely remote possibility. “Sara, it’s Nathan Ford,” he called. “We really need to talk to you.”

He gestured to Eliot, who noted the door didn’t have a peephole to verify their identities.

“And Eliot Spencer,” he added. “We talked earlier.” 

There was some shuffling on the other side. 

“Nate, tell me what happened when we were in Iceland,” Sara responded. 

Nate thought for a moment. “Is that the time we caught the guy in a cargo hold with a Ming Dynasty vase about two minutes before the plane was supposed to take off?” 

The door opened to reveal Sara, clad in yoga pants and a sweatshirt and wielding what appeared to be a pair of scissors. She was shorter and slightly less intimidating than she’d been at Sterling Bosch but somehow no less fierce. 

They all stared at each other for a moment. 

“Sara,” Nate said by way of greeting.   
“Nate,” she responded, lowering the scissors. “It was Greenland, not Iceland by the way.” She looked at Eliot. “Mr. Spencer.”

“Eliot is fine,” he replied. “What were you going to do with those?” He nodded towards the scissors. 

“The police took my baton. I had to improvise.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “You may as well come in.”

She tossed the scissors away and started kicking aside the boxes that were strewn near the door as if to slow someone in pursuit. There were more up against the walls and near the couch. 

Eliot bent down to help. “You just move in?” He asked. It was a gorgeous albeit empty place. There were dark hardwood floors and large uncovered windows which provided a nice view of the neighborhood and, to Eliot’s eye, an easy target for snipers. 

“No I um...” she kicked another one of them aside. “I just haven’t gotten around to unpacking.”

“We brought dinner,” Nate waved the bag of Thai takeaway. “You still like Thai, right?”

“I do. Let me get us some plates.” She walked towards the open kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind eating on the floor. Or drinking water, because that’s all I have.” 

“It’s fine,” Nate called back. “Do you mind if we scan for bugs?”

She re-entered with a stack of plates, a few napkins and some silverware. “Have at it,” she gestured to the rest of the apartment. Her office was checked regularly but she never bothered with her flat since she was barely here anyways.

Eliot pulled out one of Hardison’s devices. He did a circle of the room before walking into the kitchen and bedroom.   
A decade of silence hung in the air. 

“It’s been a long time, Nate,” Sara finally said awkwardly. She studied him, noticing a few more lines on his face and some grey in his hair. She had tried to be there for him and Maggie both after Sam’s funeral but his downward spiral had been ugly and painful. At a certain point all she could do was be there for Maggie. When Maggie told her she’d left him and they were divorcing, it hadn’t come as a shock. 

She took a seat on the floor with her back against the couch and pulled a box over to serve as a table. Nate joined her. 

“It has,” he said simply. 

“I talked to Maggie earlier,” she threw out, trying to come up with something to say. 

“She’s in New York right now,” Nate contributed. 

“Yes, consulting with the Met.”

“She keeps pretty busy these days.” He started opening containers. “How do you like London?”

“It’s fine,” Sara answered, reaching for the pad Thai. “Can we cut the small talk please? Why are you in London?”

“We’re all clear,” Eliot returned. He dished himself a plate but ate it while remaining standing, eyeing the windows with concern. 

“We seem to have a common enemy in Damien Moreau,” Nate continued. 

“Which is weird because I had never heard of him until today. I looked him up and he’s supposed to be in prison in San Lorenzo.”  
“Supposed to be,” Eliot confirmed darkly. “We know he’s after Caffrey, so we need to find him first.” 

Sara put down her fork. “And you think I know where he is.”

“Do you?” Eliot asked bluntly. 

“We know he’s been helping you,” Nate continued. “The Raphael, the Manet, those were pretty big wins for you.”

She stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork. “The Manet? He was in prison when it was first stolen.” 

“You didn’t think it was odd when it mysteriously reappeared in the hotel room of one of your employees?”

“Of course I thought it was weird. I’m not an idiot. But I sure as hell didn’t think it was Caffrey. He was supposed to be dead. I believed he was dead.”

She looked at Nate. He gazed back clear eyed and sober. The man she’d known a decade ago could be trusted. He was one of the good guys, a doting parent to Sam, a good husband to Maggie, and an ally to her. Unlike many men she dealt with on a regular basis, he didn’t stare at her boobs or make suggestive comments about kitchens and sandwiches. On the few occasions when their respective companies had them team up on projects he respected her ideas, gave her credit for her work and had her back that time everything went to hell in Anchorage. 

No one could blame him for falling apart after Sam died. But the man she’d known during that period was unrecognizable— drunk and angry. He couldn’t be relied upon to comfort his wife or pay their bills or sometimes even change his clothes. How was she supposed to reconcile those two people with the man in front of her? Could she put Neal’s life in the hands of someone she didn’t really even know?

She could keep her mouth shut and send them away but the problem was, she needed help. If she asked, Peter would be on the next plane, no question, but she refused to ask him to leave his newborn son and potentially put his life on the line to bail Neal out of trouble. And more to the point, if Neal wanted him to know he surely would’ve reached out himself. 

The same went for Mozzie, not that she knew how to find him anyways.

Trust them. Maggie had told her. Trust me. 

Sara remembered the day she stood at the altar of a packed church, holding a tiny, two-month old Samuel Ford in her arms, and promised to be there for him and protect him and guide his spiritual well-being. She was twenty-three years old and terrified. There were plenty of older, more responsible friends, people with children of their own that could have been called upon to serve as Sam’s godmother. 

She had been so sure they were making a huge mistake and she’d told Maggie as much. But Maggie had had just shaken her head.   
_You’re the right choice for this_ she’d said. Trust me. 

_You’re going to be great at this_ Nate had added.

And they’d both been right. Sam was just what she needed in her life and she was just what he needed in his. She grew to love that kid so much. She took him to the zoo and showed him how to tie his shoes and none of it had ever felt like a burden. Even at the end, when things were bad and she didn’t think she could handle another day at the children’s hospital, she managed to go anyways and hold his hand and sing “Yellow Submarine” as many times as he wanted. 

If Nate could manage trust her with his child, she could trust him with the safety of a grown adult, couldn’t she?   
She glanced at Eliot, who was shifting impatiently. Nate however remained calm and patient. She recognized his expression, it was the same one he used to get when Sam asked incessant questions. 

“Nate...” she started. “I need to know. Before I tell you anything I need to know what’s going to happen to Caffrey.”

“Sara, he’s not the mark. We’re not planning to have anything happen to him.”

“We don’t usually go after people like Caffrey,” Eliot jumped in. “It’s not a one size fits all kind of thing. Guys like him, non-violent, relieving rich people of shit they don’t even care about? They’re not the people on our radar.” 

“We tend to focus on the bigger fish,” Nate explained. “The Bernie Madoff’s of the world.” 

“Caffrey’s more one of us than not, or so I’m told,” Eliot added. “We might be in the market for a grifter. But either way, we’re not out for him.”

“We just want to help,” Nate finished sincerely. 

Sara couldn’t quite hide the relief she felt to hear him say that. As angry as she was with Neal, and she was still simmering with the fire of a thousand suns kind of angry, she didn’t want to see him hurt, or dead, or be responsible for sending him back in prison which was just as much a death sentence. 

She braced herself, took a breath, and made her decision. 

“Three days ago,” she began, “I received a drawing in the mail. Raphael’s St. George and the Dragon.” She told them about the drawing and how she’d thought it was a prank until today, how Maggie had helped her crack it. “He’s in Prague,” she finally finished. “He wants me to meet him at Tyl Square.”

“Did he tell you when?” Eliot asked softly. 

She shook her head. “There would be no way for him to know how long it would take me to get the note and read it. He probably lives near it, close enough to watch for me.”

Nate and Eliot looked at each other. “Our hacker, Hardison, he found Caffrey in Prague a few days ago,” Eliot explained. “But we haven’t been able to pin him down further. This will help.”

“Is there somewhere you can go?” Nate asked. “New York maybe? We’re going after Moreau once we find Caffrey but until then you can’t stay here, it’s not safe.”

“I’m going to Prague with you,” she said as if it were obvious. “I was already packing when you got here. I can be ready to leave in a few minutes.”

“Sara this is dangerous,” Nate insisted. “You should go to New York. Stay with your FBI friends.” 

“I can handle it.”

“She did put a hit man in the hospital today,” Eliot pointed out. 

Nate glared at him, silently conveying _you are not helping._

“Look,” Sara continued. “There’s really no way you can stop me. So you might as well take me with you.” 

“Ok.” Nate tossed his napkin on top of his cleaned plate and leaned back against the couch. “Tell me why we should.”   
Sara raised her eyebrows. “You’re serious?”

“Taking you with us is a risk,” Eliot explained. “You’re another person we’d have to look out for. So yeah, what he said.” 

She really couldn’t argue with that. “Fine. It sounds crazy given our respective professions but Neal and I teamed up on some cases, we were friends.”

“It’s not crazy,” Eliot replied, looking at Nate. “Maggie told you about him and Sophie’s little catch-me-if-you-can dynamic?”

“Eliot—” Nate warned. 

“Maggie and I don’t talk about Nate,” she cut him off. “Which means I don’t know much about what you do. So when we get a chance, I’m going to need you both to answer some of _my_ questions.”

“Fair enough.” Eliot shrugged. Nate looked less than thrilled by this prospect. 

“Anyways, I know how Caffrey thinks,” Sara continued. “And he did send the message to me. I need to know why. He owes me an explanation for why I had to help plan his fucking funeral.” 

“An explanation?” Nate posed. “You’re willing to put yourself at risk for an explanation?”

“I would also like to kick his ass, if that’s on the table.”

Eliot chortled but Nate seemed unimpressed. Well he was used to her after all. 

He jerked his head towards her bedroom. 

“Go finish packing then. We need to be on the next flight to Prague.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Prague, Czechia_

They managed to get the last flight of the day from London to Prague. Once they had settled into their first class seats, Sara seated next to Nate, Eliot across the aisle, she watched in fascination as Eliot simply closed his eyes and went to sleep. 

“How is he doing that?” She asked Nate.

“Military,” Nate explained curtly. He kept flicking the safety card in the seat back pocket. 

“Nate,” she prompted, trying to get his attention. 

He stopped flicking the safety card. “What?”

“Tell about Damien Moreau.”

“He’s no gentleman thief I’ll tell you that.”

“Wow,” she said after a second when he didn’t elaborate further. 

“What?”

“My life is on the line here and that’s all you’ll tell me?”

Nate leaned back in his seat staring at the ceiling. 

“Are you sure you can handle this? Because there’s no shame in it if you can’t.”

“I can handle it,” she scoffed. “You think today was the first time someone pulled a gun on me?” She settled into her seat sullenly. “You know better than that, Nate. We used to be friends.” 

“Yeah well that was a long time ago. We’re different people now.”

She gave him a steely glare. “We’re more alike now then we’ve ever been.” 

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You might be right about that. The Sara I knew had lines she didn’t cross. What happened to her?”

She looked down at her lap. “She lost someone she loved, same as you.”

Nate’s face tightened. “Let’s not talk about Sam,” he said quietly. 

She patted his arm. “Tell me about Moreau.” 

“He’s dangerous,” he finally said. “He has ties with terrorists in multiple countries, smuggled blood diamonds and has no qualms about kidnapping kids to get their parents to cooperate. ”

She pondered this for a second. “What does he want with Neal? That’s really not his M.O.” 

“The missing cash from the Panther heist is a good start. Probably antiquities smuggling, he might be useful for that. But I’m also thinking of his niece.”

“Niece?”

“What do you know about Kate Moreau?”

Understanding dawned on her. “Not much. I saw her when I testified at Neal’s trial but I never met her.” 

She thought for a second. Neal didn’t really talk about Kate with her. Mozzie had no such compunctions but it wasn’t particularly useful as his insight varied from backhanded compliments— _well at least you aren’t high maintenance like Kate was even if your wardrobe is_ —to the simply odd— _Kate never let me have any of her hair ties. Why do you all need so many of them anyways?_ Further questioning about why a bald man needed said hair ties was met with a classic Mozzie stare. 

“Vincent Adler killed her,” she finally said. “Her plane was blown up.” Those were the fact, as she knew them anyways. 

Nate nodded. “Adler was on my list of marks but the FBI got to him first.”

“Peter Burke told me once they could never pin any crimes on her. I know they only wanted Neal, and he probably took some of the heat for her, but I always thought it was weird.” 

“So did I. I think she was working for her uncle. Moreau has a wide enough influence to make things go away.” 

If that was true, surely Peter knew about it. And if he did, did Neal know as well? Mozzie implied a time or two that he hadn’t really trusted Kate but she figured that was his usual paranoia. 

“What’s your plan?” She asked. 

“Find Caffrey, then take out Moreau.”

“How does someone take out a guy like that?”

“Well we conned him once. We’re going to have to go after him head on this time. We’ve got to find him first though.”   
He flagged down the flight attendant. “Could I get a coffee please?”

Sara held up a finger indicating she’d like one as well. 

“How do we find him?”

“We have one of the best hackers in the world on it, we’ll find him,” he said confidently. 

“Really?”

“Oh he’s quite good. Turned up some great pictures of your little spending spree with Caffrey.”

“That was an FBI sting.”

“The FBI authorized the purchase of two million dollar diamond encrusted stilettos, Mrs. DuPont?”

He did know a lot. “Technically yes. And I had to give them back. Didn’t even get to wear them.” She pursed her lips. “Your point is made. You clearly know all about what I’ve been up to. I think it’s time to level the playing field and tell me what the hell it is you do.” 

“Yeah fine,” he moved his elbow aside so the flight attendant could place their drinks. “What do you want to know?”  
She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “Let’s start with everything.” 

By the time they arrived in Prague it was nearly eleven at night; she felt bone tired and her brain was absolutely bursting from the information overload. She’d never heard of Eliot before today but the rest of the crew were familiar names. Alec Hardison. Sophie Devereaux. Parker. At Sterling Bosch they were legends, myths even, names whispered during water cooler chatter. No one had ever caught them, not really. To Sara they were part of a deep mysterious underworld she’d only ever glimpsed. A world she could never quite contain her curiosity about.

Outside the airport, a milk truck came to a screeching stop at passenger pick-up. A blonde woman waved from the driver’s seat. 

“Who let you drive?” Eliot asked, rolling open the door and throwing Sara’s bag in with what looked like a slew of IT equipment. Neither Eliot, nor Nate seemed to have any luggage. 

“And why a milk truck?” Nate complained. 

“Where do we sit?” Sara asked, peering inside. There was a wooden chair thrown in the back but it was in no way secured. 

“Sit?” The woman asked. 

“Just take the front,” Eliot told her, nodding towards the one passenger side. There was a shelf like thing that could conceivably pass for a seat. “Nate and I will make do in the back.”

“Or we can take a cab?” Nate suggested. He eyed the inside of the truck again. “Or a cab?”

Sara hesitated. 

“Just get in,” Eliot insisted, pushing Nate towards the open doors. “We’re drawing attention.”

She glanced up, there was a whole group of Polish tourists staring at them. Tentatively, she rolled open the door and arranged herself in the rudimentary seat. 

Nate begrudgingly climbed in, followed by Eliot and the woman stomped on the gas before the doors were even closed. 

“Why a milk truck, Parker?” Eliot asked. He sat on his knees bracing himself between the two front seats. 

Parker shrugged. “Hardison said we needed something inconspicuous.”

Nate narrowly avoided being maimed by her suitcase as the vehicle lurched forward. “Why?”

“Mobile surveillance capabilities? I don’t know, ask him.”

“Oh I’m gonna,” Eliot mumbled under his breath. “By the way, Sara, this is Parker.”

The truck lurched again as she took a corner at well over thirty miles an hour. Sara wasn’t exactly known as a cautious driver herself but as she braced herself against the very flimsy rolling door, she was beginning to question whether anyone had actually taught Parker to drive. 

“Sara’s a friend of the family,” Nate explained. 

“We’re your family,” Parker replied, sounding confused. 

“His other family, Parker,” Eliot tried to explain. “She’s friends with Maggie,” he further clarified after a beat.

Parker turned to Sara, looking her up and down. 

“Dammit Parker! Watch the freaking road!” Eliot chided. He reached for the wheel but she smacked his hand away without looking.   
“Okay,” she said after a second of study and turned her attention back to driving. 

They made it to the Four Seasons in record time and thankfully unscathed, although everyone but Parker exited the truck looking mildly disheveled. 

The team had commandeered a beautiful set of rooms on the top floor. Decorated in shades of amber, it was one of the nicest suites Sara had seen, and she’d seen many of them in her work travels, some in this very hotel. In the center was a deep leather couch, several armchairs, a large bookshelf, and a bar. On either end, open doors indicated bedrooms and there was a reasonable kitchenette and dining area tucked in the corner. Near the windows sat a desk, a man was bent over a set of monitors, she assumed this must be Alec Hardison. 

“Hey,” he said without looking up.

Eliot threw himself onto the couch. “What the fuck is with the milk truck?”

“We need something inconspicuous to monitor the square. Sophie picked it. She said it had character.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but I miss Lucille.”

“Where is Sophie?” Nate asked. 

“What have you got on Moreau?” Eliot said at the same time. 

“She ran down to the gift shop real quick and Eliot I can only do so many things at a time,” Hardison answered with gritted teeth. 

“We started this whole job from behind,” Eliot complained. “I don’t like it.”

Parker tossed a hotel notepad at him. “Start listing places Moreau would go. Places Hardison doesn’t know about.”

“Places I don’t know about? That’s downright disrespectful.” 

“Yeah well I bet I can name at least seven,” Eliot threw out. He stretched himself out on the couch with a notepad in hand. 

“Where are we with Caffrey?” Nate sighed. 

“I haven’t found him but narrowing him down to Tyl Square helps. If we’re assuming he’s staying somewhere that overlooks it, we have a full block radius of places to contend with.” 

“I might be able to help narrow it down,” Sara offered. 

“Right,” Nate said. “Hardison, I mentioned Sara on the phone. Sara, Hardison our hacker. I’m going to go meet Sophie in the lobby.”

Hardison gave Sara a warm smile. “C’mon over,” he tapped the seat next to him. “There’s two hotels, a ton of apartments, three cafes, and a KFC for some reason.” 

“I can already tell you we can rule out the KFC,” she took the offered seat, looking at the monitor. “Tell me about the hotels.” 

“Both are budget hotels. Security is pretty rudimentary, I’ll need to physically go there to hack the cameras.”

“I wouldn’t bother unless you think you’ll catch him on exterior cameras. Budget hotels aren’t really Neal’s style. We should focus on the apartments.” 

“Ok,” he started typing. “There’s a lot of them but it’s a start.”

Eliot tossed the notepad on the table with a smack. “I need coffee, Sara?”

“Sure thanks.”

“Can you bring me some cookies?” Parker asked from above. “The wavy ones, not the crunchy ones.” Sara looked up and did a double take. Parker was perched above them on the bookshelf. 

“And can you grab me an orange soda?” Hardison requested without pausing his typing. 

Eliot walked into the kitchenette muttering about sugar and heart attacks, a moment later the smell of coffee drifted towards them.

“If we can get a list of names of tenants and owners, I can see if anything stands out,” Sara suggested.

“Sure just give me a second,” Hardison replied. “I cross listed all the names I could find with his known aliases but nothing popped up.”

“So he hasn’t been using Victor Moreau?”

“Well he did, the passport was pinged in Italy a few weeks ago and again in Hungary. But nothing since. The only reason I was able to track him in Prague is because my facial recognition software caught him at the train station.”

“You have your own facial recognition software?” She leaned back thoughtfully in her chair. “Damn, why don’t I have my own facial recognition software? Interpol takes ages.” 

“This is better than Interpol’s.” He hit a button on his screen. Neal was standing in a train station. He looked alive and well, his suit cut impeccably, one of his stupid hats jauntily in his head. He even had a little half smile. The image made her want to both kiss him and slap him. 

“This was two days ago,” Hardison explained. 

There was a clang as Eliot returned with a tray stocked with coffees, a plate of cookies with fruit, bottled water and a can of some kind of Eastern European soda called...Cockta. 

Eliot reached up and handed Parker the fruit and cookies. “Eat some fruit will you?” 

Parker made a face but popped a grape into her mouth. 

He passed Sara a coffee and Hardison his soda along with a water, which Hardison blatantly ignored in favor of his sugary beverage. 

“I can’t believe you’re drinking that with a straight face man,” he remarked, watching Hardison pick it up.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find orange soda here?”

Sara sipped here coffee, contemplating Neal’s image. “Is facial recognition how Moreau found him you think?” 

“It’s possible,” Hardison answered. He reached up a hand towards the bookshelf, holding out his open palm. A second later a cookie dropped into it. “Could be that or he did something else that got his attention. That Manet for example. It was stolen originally so obviously no one reported it when he stole it back but it definitely turned some heads. I’m trying to figure out who had it.”

“Good luck with that. I looked for it for years. My best lead was a guy in Singapore but he died a few years ago." 

“People notice guys like Caffrey,” Parker contributed. “He draws attention. Like Sophie.”

“Grifting is about misdirecting attention,” a crisp British accent came from behind them. “You have to draw people in to draw them away.” 

Sara looked up, a dark haired woman in a gorgeous pair of black suede boots had entered. 

“You must be Sara,” she gushed. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” 

“Sara, this is my wife Sophie,” Nate introduced, helping himself to a coffee. 

Sara cocked her head, studying her more closely. “Didn’t I try to have you arrested for a stealing a Catlett once?” 

Sophie laughed musically. “Bygones.” She lowered her voice. “Did you ever find that?”

“It turned up in a FBI raid in Dallas about a year ago.” She glanced again at Sophie’s shoes which kept drawing her eye. “Are those boots from the new Prada line? I didn’t think they were available yet.” 

Sophie winked. “I have some friends in high places.”

“They’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you. I’ll see if I can get you a pair. Salvatore owes me one.” 

Hardison passed her tablet, a document was queued up.

“All the names of the owners and tenants,” he explained. “There’s about sixty.”

Sara read through the names but all of them sounded Czech and unfamiliar. “Well that was unhelpful, I’m sorry,” she said as she put the tablet down. “What now?”

“We should go to the square,” Parker announced from the top of the bookshelf. “It’s dark but we might find something.”

“I’ll go,” Sara volunteered.

Hardison slid out a box and pulled something out, tossing it to Sara. She just barely caught the small piece of silicon before it fell on the floor. 

“Your comms,” he explained. “Put that in your ear. These have a forty mile radius and a GPS tracker in them.”

She brushed her hair back, fitting it into her ear. “Wow, the FBI doesn’t even have this kind of tech.”

“Oh you haven’t seen nothing yet,” he enthused. “Age of the geek, baby, age of the geek.”

“Who exactly are you calling baby?” She joked, although it came out more serious than she meant it to.

Hardison looked alarmed. “Oh shit, no see that was more of a general...I wasn’t actually calling you—”

“I told you to stop doing that.” Eliot pulled out his own comm and stuck it in his ear. “And these things still aren’t waterproof.”

“I said I was working on it.” He shook his head. “Just ungrateful,” he mumbled under his breath. 

“Let’s go,” Eliot told them. 

It was agreed that Hardison would stay at their suite to keep working on Moreau. Nate and Sophie would take the milk truck and Sara, Parker, and Eliot a cab. It was well after one in the morning when they arrived at Tyl Square. It was mostly empty, except a handful of drunk college students. 

Parker melted into the shadows as soon as they got out of the cab. Sara walked to the middle of the square, Eliot at her side.

She looked up, trying to survey the buildings around her but the college boys seemed to enjoy this and began hooting. She was about to make a cutting remark but Eliot stomped towards them, glowering. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen now,” he growled. “You are going to go home and think long and hard about your life choices. If I ever see you here again, they’ll be shipping you home in pieces. Nod if you understand.” 

The ring leader nodded ever so slightly. 

“Good. Now get the fuck out of here.” 

All three of them bolted. 

“I miss my baton,” she let out. “Any chance you know where to buy one around here?”

“I think I found something,” Sophie cut in over the comms. “There’s an Alfons Mucha on this list of names. He owns the building...number 512.” 

“What’s special about that name?”

“Alfons Mucha was an Art Noveau painter. He did some well known theatre posters in Paris during the 1890’s.”

“That sounds like Neal.” Sara glanced at the closest address. “I think it’s across the street.” 

She and Eliot turned around and started making their way across the square. “Nice work Sophie,” Eliot said. “Parker?”

“I’m going in now.”

“Wait until we’re in position.”

“I don’t think anyone is home.” 

The comms went quite except for their breathing, then the sound of Parker opening a window. 

“First floor is empty,” she said after a second. “I’m trying upstairs.”

There was a few moments of rustling. “There’s a light on up here...I’m going to check it out from the balcony.”

“We’re almost there just wait until we’re in position.”

There was a click that sounded like a lock unlocking, followed by more rustling. “What—“

“Parker!”

“There’s someone here.” A clang. “It’s not Caffrey.”

Eliot was already halfway across the square. Sara sprinted after him, moving as fast as her heels permitted.   
She found Eliot in front of a standard row house, throwing his shoulder against the door. It gave right as she reached the front steps. Eliot sprinted up the stairs, talking to Parker as he went.

“Which floor?”

“Top floor,” Parker panted. There was another clang. “No you don’t,” she said. “Ha!”

Sara ran up the stairs, stopping halfway to kick off her shoes which were hampering her movement. A crash came from the upper floor, presumably Eliot breaking the door down. 

There was a smack and then silence. 

“You okay?” Eliot asked. 

“Yeah,” Parker answered. 

“You should’ve waited, what were you thinking?”

“What’s going on?” Nate cut in. 

Sara rounded the corner and came to a halt in the doorway, holding her shoes in her hand.

The front door was hanging off its hinges, a man was sprawled across the rug, unconscious. Eliot loomed over him, Parker at his side holding what looked like a palette knife.

There was only one light on, a lamp, but she could make out a knocked over easel behind Parker and a striped fedora on the table. This was definitely Neal’s place. 

“Looks like someone broke in before us. We’re fine,” Eliot answered. He glanced up. “Sara’s here too.”

“Parker, why didn’t you wait for Eliot?” Hardison asked. 

“I thought it was Caffrey,” she replied. She threw the palette knife on the table in annoyance. 

Sara flicked on the light, illuminating the rest of the room. 

“Stay here,” Eliot told her. “I’m going to check the rest of the apartment.” 

Sara swallowed. He was trying to spare her but it was obvious that he was looking for a body. 

“Hardison?” She asked quietly, glancing at the hat. “Can you pull up that footage of Neal from the train station?”

“Sure why?”

“The hat he’s wearing. Is it a dark color with white stripes?”

“Hang on, I’ll look.”

Eliot returned a moment later. “No sign of anyone else,” he said. 

Well the lack of a body was a relief at least. 

“Sara, you’re right about the hat.”

“That means he came back here at some point in the last few days.” 

“Someone took him,” Parker finally said. “Left the other guy here. Maybe to see if someone else showed up?”

Eliot shook his head. “The bedroom was ransacked. There’s holes in the wall. I think he was looking for something.”

Sara was still standing near the open front door, she flipped it back and forth, studying the latch. “Eliot I assume you did this?”

“Yeah it was locked when I came up. I tried the handle before I broke it down.”

Parker leaned over the unconscious man and patted his pockets, coming up with a phone and a set of lock picks.

“Well that explains how he got—“

Thud. 

Their eyes flew to the space next to the front door where a small closet had surpassed their notice. It had a rolling door and she had probably been standing in front of the handle. 

The three of them looked at each other.

Eliot held up a finger, he and Parker each took a step closer to her. Parker picked up the palette knife and Sara raised one of her shoes, dropping the other one on the floor. 

Sara nodded in understanding, waiting until they were in position. When Parker gestured she flung open the door, her shoe raised. 

A short, bespectacled bald man stepped out. 

“Sara,” he greeted her, brushing off his jacket. 

She lowered her Valentino pump. 

“What the fuck Mozzie?”


	7. Chapter 7

_Prague, Czechia_

“What the fuck Mozzie?”

“You know this guy?” Eliot asked. 

“Yeah he’s a friend of Neal’s.” She turned her attention back to Mozzie. 

“Talk.”

He straightened, tugging the lapel on his jacket. “You’re as forceful as I remember.”

“Mozzie, where is Neal?”

He glanced uneasily at Parker and Eliot. “Who are these people?”

Sara sighed. “They’re thieves, they’re helping to find Neal.”

“That one is ex-military,” he pointed to Eliot. “Special Forces? I don’t talk to G-men.” 

“He’s good,” Eliot said with a nod. 

“He doesn’t work for the government,” Sara said off-handily. She turned to Eliot. “Do you?”

“Which government?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know what? I’m too tired for this.” 

“You’re no G-man,” Mozzie said, studying Parker. 

“I’m a thief. We’re both thieves.” She looked at Sara. “She’s a reverse thief, like Nate used to be.” 

“Parker...” Eliot warned quietly. 

“What?”

Mozzie did a double take. “Wait _you’re_ Parker?”

Se looked to Eliot. “Why are people always so surprised by that?”

“Because you’re a legend,” Mozzie enthused. “It’s like running into Meryl Streep. Or it would be for a normal person who you know...liked Meryl Streep. Is it true you beat a Sterenko?”

“I had help.”

Mozzie stared at her in awe. “That job you did in Palermo? That was a work of art.”

She shrugged. “You can do a lot with bubble gum and tinfoil.” 

“You did that with bubblegum and tinfoil?” Mozzie clutched his heart. “I am in awe. Truly.” 

Sara kicked out a chair and took a seat. “Enough fanboying, why are are you here and where is Neal?”

“Why are _you_ here? How did you find this place anyways?”

“How do you think?”

“He contacted you!” Mozzie started pacing back and forth. “Do the Suits know?”

“I don’t think so. What happened?”

“You happened,” he exclaimed gesturing wildly. 

“Excuse me?” 

“It was that damn Manet. We overheard that it was in a private collection in Florence and he just had to get it back for you. _Sara has been looking for that for ages Moz_.” He pointed at her. “Stupid!”

“Put your finger near my face again and I’ll break it,” Sara threatened.

“What happened with the Manet?” Parker intervened. 

“It was an easy job, quick in and out. He didn’t even need my help. The problem was the guy he stole it from—we didn’t realize it was actually—“

“Damien Moreau,” Eliot suggested for him.

Mozzie nodded mutely. 

“Well that explains how Caffrey got on his radar,” Parker mused. 

“And no one steals from Damien Moreau,” Eliot added. 

“By the time we realized who it belonged to we already had the painting and it was too late. Moreau got wind of who did it quick and I think he thought the Victor Moreau alias was specifically designed to taunt him. There were people looking for him everywhere. So Neal found someone who worked for Sterling Bosch and ditched the painting. We split up and he was going to forge a new passport and disappear again. We were supposed to meet here. But...they found him, presumably.” He gestured despondently to the hat. “Found that on the stairs on my way in.”

“And you knew he was in trouble because he’d never leave his hat like that,” she explained, for everyone else’s benefit. 

“Exactly. I was looking to see if he left anything for me when that guy started picking the lock and I had to jump in the closet.”

“What was he looking for?” Sara asked. 

“The twenty-three million missing from the Panther job is a good guess,” Nate said over the comms.

“The missing cash?” Sara said out loud, so Mozzie could hear.

“It’s not even in Prague,” Mozzie replied dejectedly. 

“Do you think he left anything else here?” Parker asked. “A message or anything?” 

“I was hoping so.”

“Nate? Sophie?” Parker said into the comms. “You may as well come up. We need the help.”

“So it’s true then,” Mozzie said. “You do run with Nathan Ford and Sophie Devereaux.” He turned to Sara. “And all of you are working together? How?”

“Nate and I are old friends.” 

“I’ve known you for how long and that never came up?” He sputtered. “How is that possible? Does Neal know?”

She glared at him, ignoring the second part of his question. “It never came up was because in all the time I’ve known you the only question you’ve ever asked me is ‘when are you leaving?’”

“You were in my space.”

“I was _invited_. To an apartment you _didn’t_ live in.”

Eliot stepped between them. “You two— time out.”

“Sara, why don’t you check the bedroom,” Sophie suggested over the comms. “Nate and I are almost there.”

Wanting to get away from this conversation, Sara agreed, throwing Mozzie a look over her shoulder as she went.

Eliot’s assessment had been correct. The bedroom was torn to pieces. She picked up the bedding that was trampled on the floor and shook it out, throwing it back on the bed. She surveyed the room. Where to start? 

Everything had already been torn off the walls, revealing no safes or hidey-holes. The dresser drawers were thrown throughout the room, their contents scattered. There were puncture marks in several of the walls.

Sophie entered the room, giving her a wan smile. She made a point of taking out her comm and tucking it into her pocket. 

“Are you alright?” She asked. “That was a bit...” 

Sara followed her lead, switched off her comm and set it on the nightstand. “Mozzie and I don’t really see eye to eye on much. It’s nothing to worry about.” 

Sophie regarded her for a moment. “Neal is very lucky to have so many people who love him.”

 _Love him?_ That was a rock she didn’t want to look under. She busied herself with picking up some stray paintbrushes from the floor. 

“When you live the kind of life we do, it can be hard, to form genuine connections,” Sophie continued, moving towards the window where the curtain rod was hung askew. She started fussing with the finial. “I’ve been grifting most of my life. And it took most of my life to find that.”

“It sounds lonely,” Sara finally said. 

“It is. But that’s the life.” She popped off the finial and tilted the curtain rod tapping it to see if there was anything inside. 

“Why do you do it?” 

“Why do I grift you mean?” A piece of rolled up paper slid out. She inspected it and passed it to Sara. 

Typical Neal. It was a French treasury bond. She wasn’t keyed into the French markets but she assumed it was worth at least a hundred thousand euros. It was not, however particularly useful to them. 

“I suppose for most of my life I didn’t know how to do anything else,” Sophie went on, adjusting the curtain rod back into position. “Working with this team, being one of the good guys, it has given me...purpose. But it’s time now to make a change.”

“You’re retiring?”

“Somewhat. I will always be a grifter. It part of who I am. But I’ve always loved the theatre too. I’m going to spend more time with that.”

A hobby. What must that feel like. She hadn’t touched her cello, hadn’t even been to the symphony in ages. “I doubt there’s anything else in here,” she announced, glancing around. 

Sophie surveyed some of the holes. “You never know. If it were you, where would you hide something?”

Sara considered this for a moment. She didn’t typically have to hide things. Her valuables, mostly her mother’s jewelry, she kept in a safe. There was no one she had to hide her chocolate stash from. Even her gun was kept in the bedside table. 

She glanced at the vent which was the only thing in the room not torn apart. It was up high but she could reach it from the top of the dresser. “Can you toss me that lock pick set?” She nodded towards a set of picks lying on the floor near Sophie’s foot. 

“What are you thinking?” 

Sara climbed onto the dresser. “My sister used to hide things in the vents. Mini liquor bottles, cigarettes, you know that kind of thing.”

Sophie passed her up the picks and she sat on her knees as she sorted through them, finding one small enough to fit into the vent screws. They popped off, one after the other. She pulled the screen free and passed it down to Sophie. 

“Anything?”

She grinned. “Passports.”

She handed them down so she could hop off with her hands free. 

“These are impeccable,” Sophie declared, thumbing through them. She handed one to Sara. 

She flipped it open. Her own face stared back at her. The picture was old, God knows where he even found it, her hair was blonde but Emily Margaret Ryan shared her exact height, was within a few pounds of a her current weight and had an address a few blocks from her old New York apartment. 

Emily. Her sister’s name. Margaret. For Maggie. And Ryan. Her mother’s maiden name. As far as fake identities went, and she knew a few things about those, it wouldn’t hold up for long. But it would’ve seen her to safely New York and her FBI contacts if she had needed it. 

Someone had listened when she talked and someone had remembered. Someone had tried to make her safe, even after he put her in danger. She closed the passport.  
“I won’t be needing it. I’m seeing this through,” she told Sophie firmly.  
“Oh I’m sure you are. But you should keep that. Hardison can craft you a whole alias with it and you’ll need it to get out of Pragueu.”  
She handed her the other two passports. One was Neal’s. 

Mitchell (El’s maiden name) Wellington (a nod to the first case they’d worked together.) 

The last one was Mozzie’s. Robert Sweet. 

Sophie was looking at her with what almost felt like pity.She swallowed and closed the passport. 

“Let’s see if they found anything in the living room,” she offered. 

Mozzie, Eliot, and Parker had been joined by Nate. Between the four of them they’d turned the living room and kitchen upside down. A wad of euros sat on the coffee table. 

“Anything?” She asked. 

“Just that,” Mozzie answered, nodding to the euros. Sara tossed him his fake passport. 

“In the vents,” she explained. “He made one for all three of us.” 

He nodded, flipping through it. “Well that’s that then. I should be going.” 

“You’re not going to stay?” Sophie asked surprised. Sara was not. She couldn’t imagine Mozzie working well with others, even if they were fellow thieves. 

“I work alone. Someone, somewhere is talking. I’ll find where they took Neal.” 

“You’ll let us know if you hear anything?” Sara inquired. 

He nodded. “You do your thing, I’ll do mine. For Neal.” 

“For Neal,” she replied.

He gave her a mock salute and left without another word, tucking his passport into his pocket.

“What now?” Eliot asked, toeing the unconscious man on the floor. 

“Parker cloned his phone,” Hardison said. “It’s a burner but I’m going through it now. We can track the GPS. And maybe plant one of the comms on him too,” he suggested. “In case he ditches the phone.” 

“We got enough comms for that?” Eliot asked. 

“I’ve got a few extras.”

Sara offered her comm. “Since I’m the newbie.”

Eliot took her offered comm and tucked it into the guy’s pocket. He checked the guy’s pulse. “He’ll be awake soon. We should clear out.”

Sara toyed with the hat on the table. 

“We have a room for you at the hotel,” Sophie told her. “We should all get some rest while we can.”

Sara nodded, she picked up the hat and followed them out.


	8. Chapter 8

_Prague, Czechia_

Sara slept far later than she would’ve liked, plagued by restless sleep and strange dreams. When she finally stumbled into the hotel suite, Hardison was stretched out on the couch, working on his laptop. 

“Hey,” he greeted her with an easy grin. “There’s coffee if you want it. And a handful of pastries- just cut off the parts Parker took a bite out of.”

“Thanks.”

Sara poured herself a cup of coffee and perused the pastries, all of which had a bite of out them. She flipped the box closed and decided to skip breakfast. 

“Where is everyone?” She asked, sipping her coffee. 

“Our guy is on the move. Parker and Eliot are following him and Sophie and Nate are reaching out to some contacts about that French bond you found.”

“What do they think?”

“About the bond? Sophie wanted to see if any others surfaced, it might help pin down his movements before he was taken.”

Taken. What a terrible movie. And what a weird verb for Neal. He was taken. Abducted to parts unknown. 

“Our guy called someone early this morning. Arranged a meeting at a warehouse,” Hardison continued, gesturing to the monitor. “Parker and Eliot are on their way now but it’s pretty far out of town so they’ll be awhile.” 

Sara settled in with her coffee watching him work. 

“We should level the playing field.” She finally said after a few minutes of quiet. 

“What do you mean?”

“Based on what Nate said, you know everything about me. I think it’s only fair.”

He chuckled. “Here’s the thing. I can hack bank statements and news alerts and track the GPS on people’s phones. And I can learn a lot from that. But who you are as a person? I can’t hack that.”

He sighed. 

“Man, I put together profiles all the time. And most of the time I’m right where it counts. But what I’ve learned from doing this is that you can’t hack a person just from a digital footprint. Sometimes bad guys are actually good guys and sometimes it’s the other way around. It takes a personal touch, sometimes someone with talents like Sophie suss it out. Like you. On paper you’re a regular upright citizen. You pay your taxes, you don’t have a hidden account in the Caymans, can’t find any evidence that you’ve had anyone murdered.” 

“I haven’t,” she said with a small smile. 

“Always good to know. If you dig a little deeper your work history makes things more interesting. You’ve recovered some things in some dubious ways but nothing explicitly illegal. Your relationship or whatever it is you have with Caffrey-don’t worry I’m not gonna ask-means you’re sympathetic to our side and Nate vouched for you so that’s why you’re allowed in this room. Believe me, we don’t let just anyone in this room.”

“Well consider me flattered to be admitted.”

“You’re right though, it does only seem fair to level the playing field. What do you know about me?”

“Just your name and what other people say about you.”

He clasped his hands, intrigued. “What are other people saying about me?”

“There’s a rumor that you had hundreds of porn magazines sent to Mitch McConnell’s office.”

He laughed. “That was a good one. We had a great time watching that security feed. What else?”

She thought for a moment. “Is it true you hacked the Pentagon as a teenager?”

“Yeah and they should thank me for it. I exposed all kinds of vulnerabilities. Backdoors all over the place.”

“Did they fix them?”

“For the most part. _I_ can still get in but they’ve improved it enough to keep out the terrorists which is really all we can ask for.”

“Does it scare you? Hacking high profile stuff like that?”

Hardison shrugged. “Maybe at first but the risk is part of the job. It can be a rush, which I’m sure you know.”

“I do.”

“For example. ID’ed our thief from last night. He’s a local criminal, not very big time. His name is Honza Svoboda. Looks like he was recruited by Moreau’s ground team. What’s frustrating is I couldn’t find anything on your guy Mozzie, not even an accomplice description on one of Caffrey’s jobs.”

“You won’t,” she explained, sipping her coffee. “Mozzie isn’t his real name, I don’t know what it is. He’s the most paranoid person I’ve ever met and he can disappear in the blink of an eye. He helped Neal with some FBI things but they don’t have anything either.”

“You think he’ll be able to help?”

“Mozzie and I don’t see eye to eye but Neal is his best and only friend. He’ll go to the ends of the earth for him. He’s also got an eidetic memory and criminal contacts I can’t even fathom so I’m pretty confident he’ll find something for us.”

“That would help.” He clicked out of one screen and showed her the tracking data on his monitor. “Hopefully Eliot and Parker can get us something to go on.” 

He slid her a new box with a comm device in it. “Put that in, they’ll be there in a minute. 

She cracked it open and pulled out a comm.

“Why do bad guys always hang out at warehouses?” Parker was saying. There was a slam like a car door shutting.

“Why do _you_ hang out at warehouses?” Eliot replied. 

Parker considered this for a moment. “High ceilings. Good rooftop sight-lines. Not too many witnesses.”

“There you go.” 

“GPS says he’s in the fourth warehouse from the end,” Hardison told them. 

“Approaching now,” Parker replied. 

There were two cars parked haphazardly near the front of the warehouse but no one else was around.

“I’ve got control of the cameras,” Hardison assured her. “I’ve got eyes on Svoboda. He’s inside with another guy, by the front garage door.” 

Parker assessed the possible entry points. “Side door,” she told Eliot. 

He nodded in understanding and stayed to cover the front. 

Parker easily picked the lock and slipped into the back of the warehouse. 

The inside was full of creepy, empty shelves, stretching all the way to the front. Parker scaled one of them and approached the front of the room from the top. 

The two guys were arguing in Czech. One of their phones was lying on the table. 

She leaned over the edge of the shelf, planting a bug to pick up their conversation. 

“I’m running translation software right now,” Hardison said. “Sara, can you read it as it comes through?”

“On it.”

“I need a distraction,” Parker whispered. “So I can get to his phone.”

“I got it,” Eliot answered. 

“Tell me about the cars,” Hardison said. “I can maybe hack them, set off some alarms.”

“I got it,” he repeated. 

The car he selected was several decades old, it didn’t take more than a jiggle for him to bust the door open. He went through the glovebox, producing a can of air freshener and a pack of cigarettes. 

“Parker you’re about to hear a boom,” he warned her. He sprayed the air freshener into the confined space until the can was empty and the car reeked of pine. Then he grabbed a lighter out of the cup holder, lit the cigarette, tossed it on the seat and ran. 

“Boom? Eliot what did you do?” Hardison asked, typing furiously. 

“It’s nothing,” he responded taking cover behind the third warehouse. “Blew up a car. Should draw them outside.”

“Blew up— are you kidding me? You know a little bit of warn—“

There was a resounding explosion, following by a clang as pieces of the car hit the ground. 

“Parker you good?” Eliot asked once it died down, Hardison was still ranting in his ear about appropriate warnings so he could divert law enforcement. 

“They running out now,” Parker answered. “He left his phone on the table.”

“Did you really need to blow up a car?” Hardison asked. 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Did you really need to buy a milk truck?”

Inside the warehouse, Parker had the phone in her hand, dropping it back on the table as soon as the cloning app flashed green. “Got it,” she said. 

“Great. You guys need to get out of there before the firefighters arrive.” 

“I’m going,” she replied, slinking back along the shelves. 

Eliot met her behind the third warehouse, the two of them slipping back to the milk truck and driving away before anyone was the wiser. 

“The translation is coming through-what they were saying before the explosion,” Sara cut in. “I’ll read it now.

_I’m telling you there wasn’t any cash._

_He’s going to be mad._

_I don’t know what to tell you the cash wasn’t there._

_I’m calling him._

_Well I’m out. This isn’t worth it._

_He’ll kill you if he thinks you have the cash._

_Well I don’t have the cash and he’ll have to find me first-what the—_

Presumably that’s when Eliot blew up the car. I kind of wish I’d seen that, I’ve never a car blow up.”

“It’s more impressive on TV,” Eliot assured her.

“Hang on they’re coming back inside,” Sara said. 

They waited a few minutes for the translation software to start working. “They’re yelling about what happened to the car,” she translated, reading through it quickly. “One of them wants the other one to drop him at the train station. The other one is making a call-Hardison?”

“Yeah I’m on it.”

He paused. 

“They’re speaking English, I’m putting it through the comms. I think it’s Moreau.” 

_“—you didn’t find the money?”_

_“There was nothing. It’s not here.”_

_“Come to Zurich.”_

“It’s Moreau,” Eliot growled. “Hardison?”

“Yeah I’m tracking it. Just give me a second.”

_“How are you going to get Caffrey to talk? You need leverage and we can’t find the girl.”_

_“He’ll talk for the right offer. Call me when you get to Zurich.”_

_“What about—?”_

_“Don’t worry about anything else. Just get to Zurich.”_

There was a beep as someone abruptly hung up. 

“Hardison, were you able to pinpoint his location in Zurich?” Parker asked. 

“He’s in District One somewhere. That’s as exact as I could get.” He sounded disappointed. “He was using an app that causes the signal to ping off different towers, masking his location. That was the best I could do.” 

“Hey it’s good work, man, we can work with that,” Eliot assured him. “And Sara—Moreau said he was making Caffrey an offer. In his world that means he needs him for something. That’s a good thing. Means he’s in one piece.”

“Thanks Eliot.”

“We’ll be there soon,” Parker cut in. “Can one of you call Sophie and Nate? We should be ready to go as soon as we can.”

“I got it,” Sara replied. 

_Zurich, Switzerland_

Being dead was a much bigger drag than Neal anticipated. There was, of course, being cut off from pretty much everyone he cared about except Mozzie, then there was getting used to the fact his name was now Victor. Those things were bad enough being but knocked unconscious in his Prague apartment and dragged God knows where really took the cake. And and to top off the indignity of it all, someone had tied his hands and placed a cloth bag over his head. 

He lurched forward as someone shoved him into chair and yanked the bag off his head. He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. 

He was in what appeared to be a large a vault. The floor underneath him was hand tiled, the pattern suggesting turn of the century. He eyed the safety deposit drawers, mint green and chrome, unusual in anything manufactured after 1960. Definitely an older bank, he glanced at the round vault door where a dark haired man was ducking to enter. 

Swiss, Neal concluded, he was in a Swiss bank. The man took a seat across from him, an ankle propped casually on his knee. He regarded him lazily. Neal did the same, counting in his head to keep himself calm. Panic was usually what they wanted. 

“Neal Caffrey,” he finally greeted him with a sly smile. His accent was interesting. Not quite British, nor quite Italian either. 

He regarded him coolly. “Damien Moreau I presume?”

Mpreau’s lips curled into a semblance of a smile. “My niece was very fond you.”

“Yeah I was pretty fond of her too.”

He leaned onto his elbows, not breaking eye contact. “And where did that get her Caffrey?”

Neal didn’t reply. 

“Dead. It got her dead,” Moreau finished. “So between that and my Manet, I believe we have some scores to settle.”

“I—”

“Oh I’m sure you’re only partially responsible for her death. You do seem to be a bit of a headache for the women in your life don’t you?”

That was saying something. He had a feeling Sara was going to kill him if she ever laid eyes on him again. He knew it was stupid to take the Manet. But it was just sitting there in some guy’s villa and it was _Sara_. She’d been looking for it for years. He wanted, he needed, to give her something other than destruction and constant disappointment. 

So much for that. 

“Here’s what I’m going to do,” Moreau continued. “I’m going to make you a truly spectacular offer, and you’re going to take it.”

Neal raised his eyebrows. “Do go on.”

“You’re going to tell me where you stashed the cash, help me get back my Manet, and in return, as a courtesy to family, I won’t kill you.”

He couldn’t really settle back in his seat, it was difficult with his hands tied so tightly. Rope, not handcuffs, clearly they knew what they were doing. 

Still, he tried to be as casual as possible “Doesn’t seem like much of an offer to me. What’s to stop you from killing me once you have what you want?”

“You seem awfully calm about that prospect.”

“Well this isn’t the first time I’ve been kidnapped.” 

Moreau chuckled. “Woodford, he wants to straight up kill you. Believes it’s his right. But me? I see how valuable you are. With your skills the two of us could really do some real damage.”

“I still don’t see what I’m getting out of this?”

“I’ll take care of Woodford, your friends and family will be safe from his retribution. Ms. Ellis can return to London from wherever it is you’ve stashed her and go on with her life.”

Sara wasn’t in London? That could be very good or very bad. He hoped she’d seen his message and gone to New York instead of Prague like he’d asked her to but there was no telling with Sara. 

“She’s quite impressive,” Moreau continued. “The man sent to retrieve her turned up in the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds.”

Well that sounded like Sara at least. 

“Believe me,” Moreau said. “I had hoped to have her here to ensure your cooperation but we’re just going to have to settle this without a hostage, like gentleman.”

Hostages aside, what he knew of Damien Moreau was that he was no gentleman. Antiquities trafficking, arms dealing, money laundering for dictators, kidnapping, and murder, were just a few of his known operations. There was a rumor about blood diamonds too and he wouldn’t be surprised if there was also human trafficking involved. Neal had committed plenty of crimes in his life, some worse than others, but he drew the line well before aiding dictators. The whole idea of getting into business with such a person was abhorrent. 

Kate had never said a word about her uncle but he’d always known about their family connection. He hadn’t pushed her on it. His own family history was plenty fraught and he didn’t want to go into it either. It was all about the future for them, never the past. 

“What do you want me to do?” Neal asked calmly. “I’ve got lots of skills.”

“I need a good forger. And I want to get back into smuggling. I believe you could be very helpful with that. What do you say?”

The truth was that it made his skin crawl but the reality was that it would keep him alive long enough to get out of here. “I’m going to need more than just assurances.”

“Would you like Woodford’s head? I could arrange that.” 

“I was thinking more financial. Half your take seems fair.”

“Half?” He sputtered. “How about ten percent.”

“Twenty,” Neal fired back. 

“You’re not really in a position to negotiate Caffrey.”

“True but wouldn’t it be easier for you if I cooperated? If I don’t you’ll have to torture me. That’s messy and time consuming and I won’t be any use to you after.”

Moreau laughed. “You know what? Tell me where the cash is and we’ll settle on eighteen percent. I like you Caffrey. I think this could work.”

Neal pretended to consider this for a moment. “Untie my hands and I’ll tell you where the cash is.”

Moreau called for one of his henchmen to enter. The man entered and cut the ropes on his hands. 

“Thanks,” he said flexing them a few times for circulation. “The cash is in St. Petersburg. Little house near the Neva.” He went on to describe a little hideout of Mozzie’s, one that was booby trapped to the teeth and where the cash, and Mozzie, most definitely were not.

“Excellent.” Moreau rose. 

“The house is booby trapped,” he added. 

Moreau stopped. “If this is a ploy to get us to take you with us, you are sorely mistaken. You’re going to stay here, in this vault where you can’t escape.” 

“What about food and water? Restrooms?”

Moreau gestured to his henchman. “Gregor here will take care of that. He’ll bring you food and water and there’s a restroom at the end of the hall. Otherwise you stay in here.”

“A pen and paper? Unless you’d like to find yourself decapitated. Some of the traps rival Indiana Jones.” Neal shrugged. 

“We’ll get you what you need.” Moreau replied. “You just sit right here and figure out how you’re going to get that Manet.” He glanced at his phone. “I must go. I’ll see you soon Caffrey.”

He ducked out of the vault and the door slammed shut behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

_Zurich, Switzerland_

“Passport?” The bored custom’s agent asked. 

Sara handed over her forged passport, plastering a bland smile on her face. 

She’d done many questionable things in her life but traveling to a foreign country on a fake passport was not one of them. She’d used fake names of course. Briefly and mostly on the right side of the law but it was never like this, never as a real alias.

In twenty minutes, Hardison had managed to craft a passable background for Emily Ryan. He assured her that it would hold up and with a few free hours, he could make into an ironclad identity, one she could disappear on if she needed. She didn’t like the idea of disappearing, of just leaving Sara Ellis behind and becoming someone else. What if her sister, the real Emily, came looking for her? 

She knew, logically, that Emily was probably dead. Her parents had poured every cent they owned and then some into trying to find her. They’d hired private investigators and psychics and missing persons experts but not one credible lead had ever materialized and the statistics on teenage runaways didn’t lie. When she’d buried her parents, she decided to put Emily to rest with them. 

But there was a part of her that needed to keep that sliver of hope alive. If Emily did ever come looking for her she wanted to be easy to find. In her line of work it was risky, that had been proven more than once, but if there was a chance, even a small chance, it was worth it. 

The customs agent stamped her passport with a thud and passed it back to her. 

“Welcome to Zurich,” he grunted. 

It seemed that she, or that is to say, Emily Ryan, had passed muster.

Given its major role in international finance, she had been to Zurich many times. It was a frequent destination for many of her clients and a particular favorite of hers. She always made a point to stop and see the Chagall Windows at the Fraumunster Church. And depending on how well her case went, the Louboutin store down the street. 

She was hauling her suitcase into her room at the Widder Hotel when her phone rang. Hardison had spent some time with it yesterday, working some sort of magic to prevent anyone from tracking or tapping it so it was with little trepidation that she accepted the call from an unknown number. 

“Hello?” 

“ _Ex ignorantia ad sapientiam_.” 

“Mozzie?”

“No names! And you’re supposed to say the second part of the phrase.”

“I don’t know the second part of the phrase.”

On the other end Mozzie sighed heavily. “It’s _ex luce ad tenebras_.”

“Do you have something for me? We think he’s in Zurich, we’re there now.”

“He is. They’re holding him in the vault on the 8th floor of the Central Bank of Switzerland. And you should verify but rumor has it, Moreau is in Russia.”

“How did you—?”

“Never mind that. Listen, Woodford is out of jail and he took out a bounty. Two million to whomever turns over our mural friend alive.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed. Find him fast, it could mean his life.”

“Mozz-“

“No names! I won’t be in touch for a while. I need to go dark for a bit.”

“Are you okay?” She was a bit surprised by the hint of actual concern in her voice but on further consideration she really did mean it. 

“Don’t worry about me. Can you get him out? I need to know if you can do this because if you—“

“I can do it,” she said firmly. She was getting really tired of explaining that to people. 

“Fine. Once you do, tell him I said I was going to see Diane. Those exact words. Diane—not Diana—Diane. He’ll know where to find me.”

“Ok, anything else?”

“Just give him the message. I have to go.”

“Take care, Moz. _Carpe vinum_.”

He chuckled. “Now you’re getting it. I may have underestimated you.”

“Wow... that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Yes well, _ad meloria_.”

He hung up with a clang, suggesting he may found the last payphone in Europe. 

Sara quickly made her way into the general room of the suite. Parker was sitting on the countertop, feet swinging, while Hardison and Nate set up a set of new computer monitors. Eliot had his head in the fridge and while Sophie thumbed through a magazine.

“Mozzie just called,” she informed them. “He knows where Neal is.”

“Tell me we didn’t come to Zurich for nothing,” Eliot pleaded. 

“We didn’t,” she answered. She went on to fill them in on what Mozzie had told her. 

“I can handle Woodford,” Sophie said once she had finished. “Or at least Annie Croix can.”

Parker nodded, her face impassive as she worked through the situation. 

“What about Moreau?” Hardison asked, he was already pulling up blueprints of the bank. “If he’s supposedly in Russia.”

“I’ll deal with Moreau separately,” Eliot replied, his eyes locked with Hardison’s. “I just need you to get me to him.” 

Sara looked away, feeling like she’d just walked into something private. 

Parker hopped off the counter, carefully studying the blueprints. She picked up a complimentary notepad off the coffee table and started scribbling. “Hardison, cameras?”

“It’s a Swiss bank, Parker it’s going to take me a minute.” He a few keys. “Make that a few minutes.”

“Hardison...” Eliot started impatiently. 

“You’re not helping. Eat some chocolate or something. I said I’ll get it. I can hack into their camera feeds from here but if we’re going to doctor them up I’ll need to be in the bank to it. So Parker, try and work that into your plans.” 

Parker nodded, staring intently at the blueprints she muttered to herself as she made a few more notes. 

“I can get a few of us into the bank,” Sara offered. “I have clients there.”

“See that right there,” Hardison looked at Eliot pointedly, “that’s helpful.”

Eliot rolled his eyes. 

Parker put down her pen. “I think I have a plan.”

“We need to move fast on this,” Nate suggested. “It’s going to have to be quick and dirty.”

“How long do you think we have?” Eliot asked. 

Nate glanced at the blueprints. “If we can confirm Moreau is in Russia I’d say we have about...” he paused considering, “two days to get Caffrey out before he gets back.” 

“ _Two days_?” Sophie sputtered. “I can’t run a game on Woodford in two days!”

“Sure you can,” Parker replied. “I've seen you con someone in two minutes. And Eliot’s right. Moreau makes things too complicated. We need to handle him separately.”

“ _We_ are not doing anything. _I_ will handle Moreau.”

Parker shot him a look that clearly conveyed, like hell you are, but dropped the subject. “Here’s what I’m thinking.” 

_Two Days Later_

By Neal’s count, which was difficult given the lack of windows, he had been in this vault for two days. Moreau had not returned but he had sent a pen and paper, some books, and a cot. Neal had carefully listed some, but not all of Mozzie’s traps. It wouldn’t stall him long but he hoped it would buy him a few more days. Food had arrived at regular intervals and he was let out to use the restroom three times a day. As far as accommodations went, it was right on par with an American prison although at least in prison he was allowed outside. 

He was thumbing through _The Count of Monte Cristo_ for the second time when he heard a noise above his head. A metal rod was poking out of the vent, with something stuck to the end of it. 

Intrigued, he stood on top of the cot and reached up to pull it off and peer into the vent. This particular shaft was small and narrow, designed to prevent anyone from using it to access the vault. But, he wouldn’t be surprised if it widened a few feet down, allowing someone with a long enough metal rod to slip something through. He plucked the item off the end. A moment later someone retracted the rod. He turned the item over in his hand. It appeared to be an ear piece. High end too, silicone, definitely superior to anything he’d seen in the FBI. 

Bless Mozzie and his Russian surpluses, he thought as he stuck the comm in his ear. 

“Hello?”

“Neal this is Parker,” a voice answered. “We met in the air duct that time in Belgrade.”

He settled back down in the cot. “I remember. I meet surprisingly few people in air ducts. How have you been?”

“Oh you know, busy.” There was a scrapping noise as she made her way along the vent. “We’re here to get you out,” she continued. “Sara, Hardison, Eliot are you in position?”

“Going in now,” a familiar voice answered. 

He grinned. “Is that you Repo?”

“It is.”

His smile widened. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“Don’t get cute on me Caffrey.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. What’s the plan?” 

Downstairs, Eliot held open the door for Sara and Hardison to enter the bank. He wore an elaborate western style shirt in a violent shade of fuchsia paired with a wide brimmed cowboy hat and boots. Next to him, Hardison was dressed smartly in an Armani suit, paired with an expensive watch Parker had ‘procured.’ 

“If everything goes right,” Eliot replied scanning the lobby. “You’ll walk right out the front door.”

“And Moreau?” Neal asked. 

“Caught him on facial recognition in Russia just a few hours ago,” Hardison answered. “We’ll be long gone when he gets back.”

Sara led them to the reception desk where she flashed a smile and her Sterling Bosch ID. “Good morning. I’m Sara Ellis, Sterling Bosch. I called yesterday about a conference room for our mutual clients?” She gestured to Eliot and Hardison. 

The receptionist scanned her list. “Yes, of course Ms. Ellis. We have a space ready for you on the 9th floor.”

“Thank you,” she said, accepting three guest ID badges and an elevator access card from the receptionist. “If you want to follow me,” she said to Hardison and Eliot, turning on her professional voice. 

Eliot tipped his cowboy hat at the receptionist as they walked away. “Much obliged m’aam.” 

“Nate, what have you got?” Parker asked from the vent she was wiggling through. 

From around the corner, Nate was monitoring the camera feeds from a disguised utility van. “Three guys posted in the room outside the eighth floor vault. Sophie is about half an hour away.”

“Got it, Eliot?”

The elevator dinged and the three of them got off on the ninth floor. “We’re on nine now. Hardison, how long do you need?”

Sara pushed open a door to a conference room and Hardison immediately unpacked his computer and plugged it into the wall. “I need a few minutes to doctor the camera feeds and get control of the elevators.” 

Sara watched as he brought up the cameras. Neal was sitting on his cot, listening intently. His jacket and tie were thrown on the cot and he was wearing his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. They waited for a few minutes as Hardison did his thing. 

“Ok...” He finally said, hitting a few keys. “Go.”

Eliot left, jumping in an elevator that Hardison commandeered to the eighth floor. “Parker, I’m outside the door.”

“Parker?” Nate cut in, “Take the shaft on your left, it’ll drop you right on the other side of the door.” 

“Going now.”

There was a crash as she kicked out the vent and a series of confused exclamations from the guards inside as she dropped out of the ventilation shaft. Eliot listened carefully for her to hit the lock, giving him access to the room. As soon as it clicked, he burst through the door, hitting the guy trying to grab Parker. Parker used the momentum to handspring off him and towards the vault. 

Eliot took him out with a blow to the head and turned his attention to the other two, who were focused on him rather than the vault. One of them rushed at him. 

Eliot grabbed him in motion and slammed him against the wall. It slowed him, but didn’t knock him out. He held him back with one hand and grabbed a letter opener from a desk, fielding off the other guy. 

The guy rushed at him, a knife at the ready but Eliot easily disarmed him with a quick thrust of the letter opener and a kick in the gut. The guy collapsed in pain. Eliot kicked him in the head, knocking him out and turned his attention back to the last remaining guard. 

He was moving slow and it didn’t take much for Eliot to throw him back against the wall, finally knocking him unconscious. 

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, picked up his hat from where it had fallen on the ground, and turned to Parker, who was rolling open the vault door. 

“All clear,” he said into the comms. 

The vault door cracked open to reveal Neal casually leaning against the wall waiting for them.

“Hi Parker,” he greeted her as if they’d run into each other at the grocery store. 

“Hi,” she replied brightly.“This is Eliot. Give him your clothes.”

“What?”

“We’re swapping clothes,” Eliot explained. “I’m covering her and Sophie, you’re leaving with Sara and Hardison.”

Neal sized him up. They were roughly the same size. Eliot pulled off his shirt and hat and tossed them both to Neal. Neal followed suit, stripping off his dress shirt and grabbing the jacket and tie from the cot.

Neal slipped on the western shirt and adjusted the hat on his head. 

“Sophie Devereaux is here?”

“She will be. Boots.” Eliot gestured to the cowboy boots he’d stepped out of. “You’re pretending to be one of Sara’s clients. He’s a Texas oil baron.”

Neal kicked off the oxfords he was wearing and slipped on the boots. They were a little big but not so much he couldn’t move comfortably. “How’s this?”

Eliot inspected him. “You’ll pass.”

“Keep the hat low when you leave,” Parker advised. “We have the cameras but if you run into the receptionist, Hardison can’t exactly hack her. Hardison, Sara are we good?”

“Hallway is clear,” Sara confirmed. “Neal, come up one floor and take the second door on the left.”

Neal turned to Parker and Eliot, “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Truly.”

“We’ll see you on the other side,” Eliot assured him gruffly.

Neal followed their directions, the elevator moved as soon as he was inside and dropped him one floor up. In front of the door Sara had indicated, he paused. He hadn’t seen anyone from his old life except Mozzie and he hadn’t seen Sara since they parted ways at the Empire State Building over a year ago. 

Before he could open the door, it opened for him. 

Sara stared at him for a moment. “That’s a new look for you,” she quipped. 

He glanced down. “I don’t think fuchsia is really my color.”

“It’s not Eliot’s either,” Hardison contributed. 

“Bite me,” Eliot replied. 

The two of them ignored the banter going on over the comms, their eyes locked as unspoken words hung between them.

“It’s so good to see you Sara,” he finally said. He couldn’t help it, he reached out and pulled her into a hug. 

Sara stiffened for a moment before she relaxed into his embrace, hugging him back. It was a rush of overwhelming comfort, achingly familiar after all this time but yet at the same time she knew none of it could last. 

She pulled away, cupping his cheek for a moment, her thumb brushing along his cheek bone. 

“You’re trying to decide whether or not to slap me, aren’t you?” He asked her, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. 

“Something like that.” She pulled back with a gentle pat to his cheek. “We have to get going. We’re on a schedule.”

“Hardison, the vault is ready for you to reset the alarms,” Parker informed them.

“Done,” Hardison replied, hitting a few keys and then closing his laptop. 

“Hurry,” Nate cut in. “Sophie will be there with Woodford in...” he trailed off. “Shit. Guys, we have a problem.”

“What is it?” Parker asked. 

Nate punched the side of the van in frustration. 

“Jim Sterling is standing in the lobby.”

_Ex ignorantia ad sapientiam, ex luce ad tenebras_ From ignorance into wisdom; from light into darkness

 _Carpe Vinum_ Seize the wine 

_Ad Meloria_ Towards better things


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is a day late! It just wasn't done yesterday. Hope you all enjoy!

_Zurich, Switzerland_

“Hurry,” Nate cut in. “Sophie will be there with Woodford in...” he trailed off. “Shit. Guys, we have a problem.”

“What is it?” Parker asked. 

Nate punched the side of the van in frustration. 

“Jim Sterling is standing in the lobby.”

“Jim Sterling?” Sara sputtered. “From Interpol? _That_ Jim Sterling?”

“Yes,” Nate sighed. “ _That_ Jim Sterling.”

“I take it you know him?” Hardison asked. 

“Unfortunately.” Sara bit her lip in thought. “I assume he’ll recognize Woodford?”

“And us,” Parker answered. “He knows all our faces.”

“What about another door?” Nate threw out. 

“There’s only a loading dock,” Parker replied. “It’s going to be tough to access. Plus Sophie’s set it up with the receptionist, they’re expecting Andrea Cole any time.”

Hardison opened his laptop back up, pulling up the camera feeds. “Sterling is sitting at the reception area.”

“Tell Sophie to stall. I’ll distract Sterling.” Sara picked up her bag and headed towards the door. 

“What are you going to do?” Neal asked. 

“I’ll figure it out.” 

His eyes softened. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“So Sterling can arrest you and brag about his crowning achievement for decades? Let’s not.” 

She put her hand on the doorknob. 

“Sara.” It was his sincere voice, one that made her melt. “Be careful.” 

She gave him a confident smile, a role reversal was good for the soul after all. “That’s my line, Caffrey.”

She slipped out the door and to the elevator bank. Access to the first floor was not controlled so she didn’t even need Hardison. 

“You’re going to have to be really convincing,” Eliot warned her. “Sterling can smell a lie a mile off.”

“And don’t pretend to be happy to see him,” Parker added, her tone serious. “No one is ever happy to see him.”

Sara bit back a laugh, that was certainly true. The elevator dinged and she got off. 

“Go left,” Hardison instructed. “He’s on one of the couches with a view of the door. 

“Don’t stop,” Neal suggested. “Look at your phone or something and walk right past him.” 

“What if he doesn’t see me?”

“He’ll hear your shoes clacking,” Parker reminded her. 

“He’ll see you,” Neal added. “Is that Alexander McQueen you’re wearing? It’s stunning.”

It was. She’d borrowed it from Sophie. Eliot and Hardison had to look their part and so did she, even if she was only playing herself. 

“You know I’m not sure how I feel about having your voice in my head, Caffrey.” 

She surveyed the area, noting Sterling seated near reception, she’d have to walk right past him to get to the door. It was a reasonable path, probably the only reasonable path but if Neal was wrong and she walked out the door they were back to square one. 

“See if you can figure out what he’s doing here,” Nate said. 

“And let him lead the conversation,” Neal added. “If he asks questions be cryptic. Don’t give him more answers than you have to.” 

“And if you get an opportunity to punch him the face for me, I’d appreciate it,” Eliot added. 

“Sara we may be able to use him. Do _not_ punch him in the face,” Nate ordered. 

“All of you _shut up_ ,” Sara hissed. 

She set a clipped pace across the lobby, her pumps clicking on the tiled floor. 

She was almost to the door and starting to worry when—

“Sara?” Said a crisp British accent. 

She stopped, she didn’t even have to pretend to be perturbed, Sterling had a knack for bringing that out in people. “Jim Sterling,” she plastered an obviously fake smile on her face. “What brings you to Zurich?”

“Criminals,” he said simply. He eyed her carefully, like he was zeroing in for the kill. She didn’t crack, keeping the same genetic smile on her face. 

She’d never liked Jim Sterling. He had no qualms about screwing his own colleagues over and the fact she worked for a rival company made him even worse. He’d once swept in and taken sole credit for a diamond recovery she’d done the bulk of the work on.

It hadn’t improved with him at Interpol. Now that she was in London he called at least once a month complaining about how Sterling Bosch filed paperwork and he was constantly insisting their investigators were inexperienced and impeding his department’s work. 

“I called your office the other day,” he continued. “I need to speak with you about the Manet. Your assistant, such a flighty little thing, she said you were on travel but she didn’t say where.”

Kylie was the farthest thing from flighty. Sara made a mental note to give her a raise. 

“The Manet? What do we need to discuss?”

His lips curled into a contemptuous “The matter is rather...delicate.” 

Sara glanced at her watch. “My client is consulting with his lawyer right now, I have some time if you would like to go for coffee?”

“Which client is it that again?”

“ _Jim_ ,” she said charmingly. “You know I respect my client’s confidentiality. That’s Sterling Bosch policy. Unless you have someone with a warrant?”

He didn’t answer, just glanced towards reception. “Gerta, do you have a conference room that Ms. Ellis and I could use?”

“Of course Mr. Sterling, there’s one on the forth floor.”

He gestured towards the elevators. “Shall we?”

“Something doesn’t seem right here,” Eliot growled. 

Sara followed Sterling to the elevator, her eyes peeled for anything unusual. 

“I’m not seeing any other signs of Interpol,” Hardison answered. “We’re the only non-employees in the bank other than Sara and Sterling. There’s nothing weird on the cameras. Nate?”

“I don’t like this either but there’s nothing outside. I’m calling Sophie, giving her a way out. Sara tell Sterling you’re feeling sick and get out of there. Hardison, Neal—“

“Wait!” Sara exclaimed, stopping half way to the elevators. 

Sterling turned around. “What was that?”

She reached down to adjust her shoe. “Sorry I just turned my ankle a bit.” She took a few tentative steps. “It’s fine now. I have it _under control_.”

“You’re in over your head,” Nate replied. 

“She said she’s fine,” Parker cut in. “We’re not calling it.”

“Sara’s good at this,” Neal cut in. “And she has all of us to help her. Let her play it out.” 

“Sara stall him on the fourth floor as long as you can,” Parker ordered. She kept her tone even but there was no question who was calling the shots. “Nate is Sophie close? Patch her in.”

They stepped onto the fourth floor and Sara followed Sterling to a conference room. 

There was a soft chime as Nate patched Sophie into the comms, she was conversing with Woodford about a heist he’d done years ago in New Zealand. The rest of them remained quiet, focused on Sara and Sophie. 

Sara took a seat at the table and looked to Sterling expectantly. “What’s this about Jim?”

He pulled out his briefcase and tossed a folder on the table. 

Sara flipped it open and glanced at the one on top. A photo of herself and Neal during their FBI sting. 

She glanced back up at him blandly. “This is from a two year old FBI sting. And I’m sure you know that because if there’s one thing you’re not, it’s sloppy.”

Sterling leaned against the wall. Sara didn’t know how he managed to lean arrogantly but it was a particular trademark of his. “I know you had a relationship with Caffrey,” he started menacingly. “And I know you know where he is. If you give him up I can put in a good word for you, protect you from the hellfire that is about to rain down on you.”

She pushed the file back towards him with a single finger. “Caffrey’s dead. There’s no one to give up.”

Sterling reached over and flipped the picture. The next one was what looked like a surveillance photo of Neal, dated a few days ago. 

No doubt he was trying to rattle her. 

“That’s interesting,”’she replied blandly. She kept her expression cool and even, refusing to fake the shock he was looking for. 

Sterling jabbed at finger on the table. “You’re helping him and he’s helping you. We have well documented proof he brought you the Raphael. Tell me, how much of your commission did that little career boost cost you?”

The insurance policies on both the Raphael and the Manet had already been paid out by Sterling Bosch when they were recovered and Sara hadn’t received a commission, something she was sure Sterling already knew. He was fishing, trying to get her to admit to something, but why? 

Wordlessly, she shoved the file back at him, fixing him with an icy stare.

He took a seat, picking up the file and straightening it neatly. “People are asking questions Sara, sooner or later this will come down on you. Fraud, conspiracy, accessory after the fact...” He tutted. “If you’re lucky it’ll just be your career. If you’re as unlucky as I suspect, it means years of court and legal fees before the statue of limitations runs out. Do you want to be the next Marion True?”

“Sara—“ Neal started. Hardison cut him off with a hand on his shoulder and a shake of his head. 

Nate cut in. “Sophie is two minutes away, just hang on.”

“Bait him with Woodford,” Parker suggested. 

Sara had come to the same conclusion. They were setting up Woodford either way, why not let Sterling take credit for it? 

“I can’t help you with Caffrey,” she told him. 

“Your loyalty is touching,” he seethed. 

“But,” she continued, ignoring him. “I can give you someone better.”

“Who?”

“Alan Woodford.”

He crossed his arms. “How are you going to do that?”

Sophie cut into the comms, speaking softly to Woodford. “I assure you we’ve taken every precaution. Just through the door here.”

They were in. Sara just needed to buy a few more minutes. 

Sterling fixed her with an even gaze. “Why are you in Zurich, Sara?”

“Why are _you_?” She shot back. 

He didn’t answer. They sat in silence, staring at each other for what felt like a full minute. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t such a serious matter. 

Sara listened as Sophie brought Woodford up the elevator and to the 8th floor vault they had prepared. 

“Sophie, punch in 2-9-7-6-5-1-8-3-2-7,” Parker instructed.

“I’m in position right outside,” Eliot told her. “As soon as he sets off that alarm get out and I’ll grab you.”

Sara got up. It was time to collect Neal and Hardison and get out of here. “Well since neither of us have anything else to say, I have work to do.”

She moved towards the door. 

“Wait,” Sterling called after her. 

She paused. “Yes?”

“What are your terms?”

She turned around. “My terms?”

“For Woodford.”

“You can have Woodford,” she said simply. “And you’ll owe me one. That’s all.”

“That’s all? You don’t want me to back off Caffrey?”

She did of course. But Sterling was too interested in that connection. He was after something and she wasn’t about to give it to him. 

She shrugged, playing stone cold bitch. “I could use a favor with Interpol.” 

Sterling frowned. “Selfish to the last, aren’t you? Well I accept. Where is Woodford?”

She held up a finger counting down from five. The alarm went off when she hit four. Close enough. 

“I’m clear,” Sophie said, slightly breathless. “I’m with Eliot now.” Her voice echoed over the zipping sound of the retracting cable pulling them up the ventilation shaft. 

“You’ll be wanting the 8th floor,” Sara told Sterling. “Woodford has a vault full of looted antiquities and he just set off the alarm.”

“What did—?”

“Do you want Woodford or not, Jim? If you wait too long the police will get here before you and ruin your big moment.”

He rushed out of the room, Sara at his heels. 

“Neal, Hardison,” she said quietly, the sound of the alarm preventing Sterling from overbearing. “Do we have an exit? I don’t think the front door is going to be an option.”

“Yeah we’re going to have to go out the roof with everyone else. Neal and I are headed for the stairwell now. Come meet us.” 

“Once you’re up there it’s a short jump to the building next door,” Parker told her. “A few of us will rappel down as window washers. The rest of you can slip inside and take the stairs down.” 

Sara caught up with Sterling at the elevators, slipping in just as the doors closed. 

He turned to her, a knowing look in his eyes. 

“You’re not here for Sterling Bosch, are you Sara?”

She turned to him with a bemused expression. “What makes you say that? How did you know I was in Zurich anyways?”

“I didn’t. I was tracking Caffrey in Munich and received a tip he was here. I was simply following the lead.” 

The elevator dinged and they got out, walking into chaos. The alarm was still ringing, security guards surrounded the door to the suite, shouting into their comms and banging on doors and the vent cover to the ventilation shaft was sitting in the middle of the floor. 

Sterling took in the scene with exasperation. “This whole thing reeks of Nathan Ford’s crew.” He glanced straight up into missing vent in the ceiling and shook his head. “Parker...”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sara replied. “I should be getting back to my clients. Take care Sterling.” She turned towards the stairwell. “Hardison, stairs?”

“Unlocked,” he answered, hitting a button on his phone.

Sara slipped into stairwell with a final wave to a fuming Sterling. 

Neal and Hardison were waiting for her just one floor above. 

“Nice work Repo,” Neal whispered quietly to her as the three of them made their way up to the roof. 

“You...”she replied, panting as they turned the corner to the next set of stairs, “are a lot of trouble.”

When they finally burst through the door and onto the roof, after seven flights of stairs, all three of them were breathing heavily. 

Sophie, Parker and Eliot were waiting, all wearing window-washer jumpsuits. 

“Parker,” Hardison heaved, “next time can we plan for you rappel us up?”

“You hate that,” Eliot pointed out. “You scream like a little girl every damn time.” 

“I also hate...climbing stairs.”

Parker rolled her eyes and tossed her bag to the adjoining rooftop. Sara peered over the edge, at the ground sixteen stories below, then eyed the gap between buildings. 

Behind her, Hardison cursed. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“It’s only about five feet, Hardison,” Parker tried to assure him. 

“Five feet. Five—“ he turned around. “I’m afraid of heights woman. And that is a long way down.”

Sara pulled off her shoes and tossed them over one at a time. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I’ll go first,” Eliot offered. 

He leapt easily to the opposite roof, landing gracefully. “See it’s not so bad.”

“Hardison, go.” Parker gave him a little shove. 

Hardison nodded, looking slightly ill. He closed his eyes, took a running start and leapt, screaming. He thankfully landed but crashed straight into Eliot, sending them both sprawling to the ground. 

“Dammit, Hardison.” Eliot grunted, pushing him off. 

Hardison whooped. “I did it!”

“Yeah you did. Get off the ground.” Eliot gave him a hand up. 

“I’ll go next,” Sara offered. 

Neal gave her shoulder a squeeze of encouragement. She stepped forward, throwing herself onto the roof. She only just made it where Eliot and Hardison had well cleared the edge, but since it was very much a pass/fail activity she tried not to hold it against herself. 

She retrieved her shoes and watched as Sophie followed, her eyes shut tight as she made the jump. Eliot caught her as she stumbled slightly in the landing. Neal and Parker, both of whom had years of experience BASE jumping and otherwise gleefully throwing themselves off of great heights, went last, Parker with a resounding whoop of joy as she did so. 

“We’ll see you at the van,” Parker told them as she, Eliot and Sophie strapped themselves into window washing harnesses Parker had left on the roof the previous day. 

“I’m two blocks down by the Deloitte building,” Nate informed them.

Neal picked the lock on the stairs and the two of them and Hardison slipped inside. It was a hotel and they had scoped it out previously as part of their Plan B. Once they cleared the top floor, it was easy to slip into an elevator and walk out the front lobby. 

Nate was waiting with the van down the street, as promised. It was a very tight fit with seven of them but there wasn’t much other choice.

“We need to lie low for awhile.” Sophie settled into the passenger seat. Nate stomped on the gas taking the first exit he saw out of Zurich. 

“Drive towards Bern,” Eliot suggested. “I got a place near Lauterbrunnen. Won’t do for long but we can regroup there.”

Parker turned to Sara and Neal expectantly. “You two sticking around to help us take down Moreau or should we drop you at the airport?”

Neal looked to Sara, then the rest of them, a wicked grin on his face. “I’m in. Sara?”

She looked from Neal, to Nate, to each of her new friends. They would be probably be fine without her. She should get back to Sterling Bosch, she had plenty of work to do on top of investigating if Sterling’s threats had any merit. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to leave them. Not yet, she thought. Not just yet. 

“I’m in.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, an update! Thank you all for sticking with me! Lots of talking this chapter but I promise more action is forthcoming. Thanks for reading!

Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland 

Given the quality of the places they had stayed so far, Sara expected, or perhaps hoped for a good sized chalet. Now, standing in front of their accommodations, she realised she should’ve taken Eliot’s personality into account. 

It turned out that what he meant by “I’ve got a place,” was small cabin. 

“Should be ok,” he mentioned as she followed him inside. “I had someone come by with some food and prep it for us.”

Sara assessed the darkened room, glancing around skeptically. A main room comprised both the kitchen and living area. The furnishings were well kept but everything from the yellow and brown patterned couch to the pale green stove indicated it was dated. The doors on other side of the room were propped open revealing a single bedroom with an attached bathroom and a small office space. 

“Seriously?” Hardison complained, flicking at one of the curtains. “This is like the murder cabin from hell.”

Sophie wisely did not say anything but her pursed expression indicated she agreed. 

Eliot turned to him. “Do you wanna sleep outside? Because I can make that happen for you.”

“Outside? With the bears?” Hardison gestured towards the open door. 

“You think there’s _bears_ in the Swiss Alps? Dammit, Hardison.” 

“Hey some help out here would be nice,” Nate chastened, pushing through the door with a bag in each hand. He dropped them just inside the door with an exasperated glance at Sophie. Neal followed with several more. 

“We’re coming,” Eliot headed back outside, a grumbling Hardison on his heels. 

“Do they need more help?” Sara asked, taking one of the bags from Neal. 

“No I think they’re fine. It’s just a few monitors and a bag. Do you normally travel with this much?” He asked Sophie. 

She shrugged. “I picked up a few things in Prague. And this one is yours,” she kicked a familiar looking suitcase towards him. 

He looked to Sara who shook her head. “Like I went through your underwear and packed for you? Thank Sophie.”

He threw Sophie one of his thousand watt smiles. “Thank you, Sophie.”

“It’s nothing.” She waved a hand. “I know how you are about your suits.” She assessed the space carefully, then glanced between Sara and Neal. “The sleeping arrangements are going to be tricky.”

“I bet there’s a crawl space I can sleep in,” Parker offered, glancing around. 

“No one is sleeping in the crawl space,” Nate entered, with the last of the bags. “Sophie and I are claiming seniority and taking the bedroom. The rest of you can fight it out.”

“Did Nate just admit he’s old?” Hardison asked, he and Eliot followed with a computer monitor under each arm. 

“Not old, just older than you.”

“Are you sure you should be carrying that? I wouldn’t want you to damage your old back.”

Nate dropped the bag inside the bedroom as if claiming the space. It landed with a rounding thud. 

“There’s a pull out couch in the den,” Eliot offered, “And I think this one pulls out too.”

An awkward silence descended as everyone sized each other up. 

“Parker and Hardison should take the den,” Neal finally said after a beat. “Sara and I can sleep in here.”

Sara arched an eyebrow. 

“I’ll take the floor,” he finished hastily.

“But where will Eliot sleep?” Parker asked with a frown. 

“I’ll sleep in the van.”

“But it’s too cold,” Parker protested.

“I’ll be fine. You know I don’t sleep much anyways.”

“But-”

“Parker, why don’t you come help me with the monitors?” Hardison asked pointedly. He picked up a monitor and thrust it into her arms. “We’ll set these up in the den.”

Parker followed him, her eyebrows knit together in a concerned scowl. 

“Great,” Sophie interjected. “If that’s sorted, I’m starving. Eliot, please tell me there’s food here that doesn’t come out of a packet.”

Eliot rolled his eyes, moving towards the kitchen. “You’d think none of you had ever camped before.” He started pulling items out of the cabinet. 

“ _Camped_?” Sophie replied, horrified. 

Eliot pulled out a bottle of wine and handed it to her. “Glasses are in the cabinet on your left.”

“God bless you.” 

She had just started to pour when there was a shriek from the other room. 

Hardison came barreling back into the main space. “ _Dial-up_? You have _dial-up_ internet?”

“We’re in the mountains, Hardison.”

“We’re in the twenty-first century, Eliot.”

Eliot crossed his arms. “So you can’t make it work?” He quirked an eyebrow in challenge.

Hardison bristled. “Oh I can make it work. But I shouldn’t have to.” He stormed back into the other room grumbling about AOL. 

Eliot ignored him and started organizing the groceries. 

“Do you want some help?” Neal offered. 

“Only if you can take direction and make a decent marinara sauce. Otherwise you can help by staying the hell out of my kitchen.”

Neal grinned. “I make fantastic marinara sauces. Do you have any fresh basil?”

Eliot looked surprised but moved aside. “Start chopping tomatoes, would you?”

Dinner, despite everyone’s collective crankiness about their accommodations, turned out to be lovely. Eliot and Neal prepared a simple but delicious pasta dish and the team took turns explaining to Neal the finer points of his rescue mission. Sophie took particular enjoyment in describing how they had tricked Woodford by leading him to the vault across the hall from where Neal had been held and trapping him with the looted art residing in it.

The wine flowed and so did the stories, Sara laughed at Hardison’s retelling of the time he landed a plane. 

Soon though, the day began to catch up with them. Sara, Parker, and Hardison made quick work of the dishes while Neal and Sophie polished off the wine. Before she knew it, everyone else had gone to bed and Eliot was handing off a pile of blankets and stomping off to the van. 

Neal silently started pulling at the bottom couch cushions. “I can get this set up, if you want to use the bathroom first.”

Sara’s mouth twisted. This wasn’t how it had always been. Once they’d moved around each other with little awkwardness, brushing their teeth side by side and falling asleep in a pile of tangled limbs. They’d never fought about things like wet towels and dirty socks, just stolen treasure and Neal’s great disappearing act. She closed the bathroom door behind her and brushed her teeth alone. 

When she came out, Neal was sitting on the still together couch. He’d turned off all the lights but the lamp on the table next to him. 

He smirked and quickly covered his mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She put her hands on her hips which just made him laugh harder. “Nothing?”

“It’s just this is only the second time I’ve ever seen you in real pajamas and they’re so...pink.”

She glanced down at her silk pink pajama set, patterned with cherry blossoms. The whole thing was a bit girlier than her normal clothing, but she liked them and had packed them assuming no one would see them. 

“I like pink.” She draped the dress she’d been wearing over one of the dining chairs to return to Sophie. 

He gave her an appreciative once over. “I do too. And it’s nice that you don’t have a gun to my head this time.” 

“The police took my baton back in London and Eliot doesn’t like guns.”

“So it’s down to your scary shoes then?”

She wiggled her bare toes. “For the moment.”

He tugged on one of couch cushions. “We seem to have a problem. This couch doesn’t fold out and the cushions are attached to it.”

That was indeed a problem. She’d had no intention of letting Neal sleep on the floor. But that had been with the assumption the couch folded out and they could sleep fairly comfortably in separate corners.

“Why don’t you go change,” she suggested, thinking. “I’ll see what I can sort out.”

“Save me a blanket, would you?”

She eyed the hardwood floor as Neal took his bag and closed the door behind him. There was a rug but it was threadbare and offered little cushioning. She yanked at the couch cushions for good measure but they didn’t budge. 

Neal emerged from the bathroom in loose pants and a sleeveless shirt. She remembered this outfit quite well. His arms looked very toned for someone who had been running for his life. Had he he been swimming since he “died?” 

She looked down, busying herself with folding the blanket. “I think we’ll have to share the couch.”

“I can sleep on the floor.”

“It’s hardwood and there’s not any cushioning.”

“I spent four years in prison Sara. I think I can sleep on the floor for one night.” He tugged the blanket from her. “And we both know I deserve it.”

“Neal...”

“You’re angry with me,” Neal pointed out. His voice was low and gravely.

He was right. It had been shimmering under the surface all day but every minute they were alone together she could feel it rising. “Observant as always.”

“You deserve an explanation.”

“You’re damned right I do. But do you really want to do this here?” She gestured to the room around them. “Like this?” 

“I think we agreed to be part of a team and it’s better for everyone if you and I have it out while we can.”

“Ok then, where was that team spirit when you abandoned your last team in New York?” Her words were biting and cut straight to the bone. He swallowed, taking her verbal spar without complaint.

“I don’t know what you think you left behind,” she continued. “But people actually came to your funeral, Neal.”

He nodded. “I know. And I know I can’t expect you to ever trust me again. But Sara, I need you to know that I never ever meant for you to get hurt in this.”

She sat, burdened by the metaphorical weight of all of she’d been carrying. “It’s not about me. What about Peter? And El and June and everyone else you left behind in New York.”

“Are they alright? Peter and El...the baby?”

She nodded. “Baby’s healthy and happy but they...they miss you.” She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of telling him what they named the baby. “They were all...heartbroken.”

She paused, remembering Peter’s ashen face, how he felt like he’d failed Neal. What was worse was the resignation in June’s voice when she told her she was closing up the house and moving in with her daughter. “It’s just too quiet now without Neal,” she’d said. “Cindy is done with school and...well I’m an old woman living alone in this big empty house.” 

“You weren’t heartbroken ?” Neal prompted gently. 

She gave him a hard look. “I’m used to the disappointment.”

He winced and they settled into an uncomfortable silence. 

Neal knew a lot more about her than most people. Between his easy smiles and open ears, he had a way about him, as El used to say. He was good at getting her to open up, which both delighted and horrified her. The day she’d told him about Emily, she’d surprised even herself. Later, when he asked, she’d given him the short version of what happened to her parents, who had been killed in a car accident right before she graduated college.

But even still, there were things she had kept back. He surely knew she was lying when she said she was from San Diego, but he never pressed the issue and in truth she was from near San Diego. She’d never told him about Sam, and she preferred to keep this last, and most terrible loss to herself. He was not her son after all, she owed it to Maggie to keep her grief private. 

But then, Neal had his secrets too. 

“Why’d you do it?” She finally asked. 

He took a seat on the other end of the couch, looking down at his hands as he gathered his thoughts. When he finally spoke he didn’t look at her. “I got in over my head…flew to close to the sun as Mozzie likes to say. The Panthers...I didn’t know how ruthless they were at first. And even once that became clear I kept going because I couldn’t let them win. And then Peter went under with me and El was pregnant...I couldn’t risk that they’d retaliate by hurting them.”

“So your solution was to fake your death and disappear forever?”

“I didn’t see any other way. I know the risks of the life I lead. But I could never forgive myself if something happened to people I care about.”

She tucked one of her legs under her, head bent towards him. “I would’ve helped you, Neal. If you’d asked me.”

“And risked your entire career?”

“Do you really think your life is worth less to me than my career?”

“No that’s not what I—”

“We were a team,” she cut him off sharply. “No matter what was going on between us personally we always worked well together.”

“I know, I just—”

“Jones and Diana filled me in on everything that happened while I was in London.”

“Everything?” He flinched, a very un-Caffrey like gesture. 

“Everything that went down with your dad and Peter getting arrested. All of it probably happened before I even made it to the airport. Why didn’t you call me?”

“If I’d called, would you have gotten on that plane?”

“Of course not.”

“And you would’ve derailed your whole life.”

“Peter was in _jail_.” 

“And were trying to _leave_. You said that was what you wanted. I was trying to respect that.”

Her face softened. “ _Neal_.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked up at her, earnest. “Believe me, I didn’t do any of this because I didn’t care. If I had to do it again, I would have stayed away from the Panthers. But Sara, you did help me. When I needed you. Thank you.”

She took a deep breath. “I think this enough for tonight. We should get some sleep.”

He let out a half laugh. “How is that going to work again?”

Sara tossed him one of the pillows stacked on the floor. “You take that end, I’ll take this one.”

They settled themselves head to toe. It was a tight fit but they were both fairly small people and managed to make it work. 

Neal reached up and clicked off the light. 

“Sara?”

“What?”

“I know this was hard but I think we should keep talking.”

She shifted, burying her face in the couch. It smelled faintly of cigarettes. “I’ll try. Go to sleep Neal.”

Sara awoke with a jolt, unsure if the noise she’d heard was a fragment of a dream or something in her environment. Whatever she had been dreaming was slipping away from her with each second of consciousness, even as she tried to hang on to it.

“Ow,” exclaimed the other end of the couch. 

She half sat up, glancing around the darkened room. By her best guess she’d drifted off for a few hours or minutes but it wasn’t close to dawn. “Did you hear a noise?”

“All I heard was the sound of you kicking me in the head.” Neal sat up, rubbing the space just above his left ear. “It was probably just Eliot sneaking back in.” 

“Why would Eliot be sneaking in? This is his house.”

Neal slumped back down. “Never mind.”

She nudged his shoulder with her heel. “You can’t just drop something like that say never mind. What did you mean?”

He sighed and lifted her feet, moving them to drape on the top of the couch so they were no longer in his face. “Look it’s none of my business, or yours but I’m pretty sure Eliot, Hardison and Parker are a…I think the correct term is throuple.” 

“ _Oh_.” A number of things dawned on her, the significant looks, the weird behavior about where Eliot was sleeping. She wasn’t bothered by it, but she felt a bolt of embarrassment, had she done something that made them feel they had to hide it? “They didn’t…”

“I wouldn’t take it personally that they aren’t open about it,” Neal finished her thought. “It’s none of our business and I’m sure some people can be pretty judgmental about it.”

“True.” She settled back down into the couch, trying to find a comfortable position. It hadn’t been so bad before, she’d been so tired. But now the lack of space, the lumpiness of the couch, the fact that she had the option of either Neal’s feet or a cushion in her face suddenly rankled. She turned on to her side, adjusting herself so her head fell below Neal’s ankles.

“Sara?”

“What?”

“Could you not knee me in the groin? If you’re looking to hurt me, I’d prefer it if you just kick me in the face again.”

“I did _not_.” 

“You just came very close.”

She sighed, shifting again.

“You know there is an obvious solution to this.”

“One of us sleeps on the floor?”

“Or you come up here.”

“Neal…”

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” 

She snorted. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“You have. Right before you climbed me like a tree.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“Because it’s true?”

She picked up her pillow and whacked him across the legs with it. He grabbed for it, wresting it out of her hands. “You’re violent tonight, Ellis.”

“I’m tired. Give me back my pillow.”

“Come get it then,” he teased playfully.

She knew she was getting into dangerous territory, the kind of territory that led to her climbing him like a tree. “Neal, I mean it,” she said sharply. “I’m tired. Give it back before we wake everyone up.”

He held it out to her and she snatched it out of his hand. She crammed it in between his feet and the couch and punched it a few times before she lay back down.

“Do you want me to go?” He asked. “I can sleep in the van.”

“This is fine.”

“Clearly it’s not.”

She waited a beat before she replied. Feelings were really not her strong suit. “I don’t know Neal. This is all just really difficult.”

“I know. I’m not trying to force myself on you. I’ll leave if that’s what you want.”

The silence between them fell thick. “It’s not,” she finally let out quietly. “And you may have a point have a point about this sleeping arrangement.”

Neal grinned into his pillow. “So?”

“So move over.” He scooted to the edge of the couch obediently and she arranged herself, fitting herself between him and the cushions and resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Better?” He asked. He brought his arm down so it draped over her. 

“Chivalrous as always, Caffrey.” 

He began drawing a soothing pattern on her arm, one that was slowly lulling her to sleep. 

“Sara?” He said a moment later.

“What?” She mumbled sleepily. 

“I’m going to make this up to you, promise.” 

“You could start by letting me sleep,” she said into his shoulder. “And Neal Caffrey doesn’t make promises.” 

He lay thinking about this as her breath evened out and she drifted to sleep. This comment hit harder than anything she’d deliberately said to hurt him. 

He glanced down at her sleeping face. “Maybe it’s time to start.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoy my #StayAtHome project. More to come!


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